Friday, May 10, 2013

Sentences in search of stories

She had the kind of breasts that started wars.

Alphabet Snowstorm had been crying again.

Frisky Bee tugged on the straps of his harness. It would be soon.

Withering fretless bass lines punctuated by staccato barks of car horn sent me careening headfirst into the chez lounge.

Violence is not just the purview of the living.

Desperate men call for desperate times. (Desperate food calls for desperate thyme.)

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. But mostly it was just the worst of times.

No matter their effort, the justified ancients of mu-mu and the sanctified groovers of depolito couldn't wrap their heads around the concept of sobriety.

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