Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Purple, Bruised, Pulpy, Prose

It was a dark and stormy night and the rain felt like Chinese water torture. I stared at the spider web crack in the murky glass of the door to my office. Bored, I looked down and opened the drawer to my desk and pulled out my trusty revolver(one of the implements of this rough and dirty business) I spun the chamber and then put it on the tattered blotter. Then I pulled out a bottle of Mad Dog, unscrewed the cap, took a swig, and tipped the bottle to all the gutter punks and bag ladies.

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