We mixed it with coke and read aloud the only play we had with two copies. “Thrift, Horatio!” “To a nunnery, go!” We stumbled, spake, drew swords. Morning found retched scrambled eggs on my bedroom rug. No method in it but friendship.
We mixed it with coke and read aloud the only play we had with two copies. “Thrift, Horatio!” “To a nunnery, go!” We stumbled, spake, drew swords. Morning found retched scrambled eggs on my bedroom rug. No method in it but friendship.
Living life through words and balls.
a journal of poetry, flash fiction, and art
I write stuff
A Flash Fiction Writing Community
for flights of flash fiction fancy
Now, he thought, I must think about the drag. It has its perils and its merits. -- Hemingway
Fiction by Stan Cornerstone
Sometimes I write things. Sometimes I wanna share.
fitting somewhere between family and fiction
every best bloody mouthful
you may ask yourself, well, how did i get here
A DAILY RITUAL OF WRITING
You had me at Hamlet, but I especially love this line: “We stumbled, spake, drew swords.”
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Oh those retched eggs though!
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Yeah, sorry about that image.
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