by Robert Gryfft
The seemingly average, older gentleman, (graying; solemn; bushy eyebrows) offered to pay for the purchases of the girl behind him in line. Eye contact; she was momentarily confused. They'd never met before.
Moments passed; then, so did the confusion. Smiling absently, she took his hand.
And she'd follow him to the end of the earth.
Friday, January 18, 2008
There Was No Scent of Brimstone
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment