by Jordan Dotson | Nov 26, 2019 | Flash Fiction, Stuff I wrote
At six o’clock he rises, creaking, and says “How are you?” to the flower pot on the table. It is empty. Outside, smog saddens the day. The tram’s copper bellchime sounds through the balcony, and this is a bad Tuesday, he thinks, though it is Wednesday. He checks... by Jordan Dotson | Dec 12, 2017 | Flash Fiction, Hip tunage, Things I wish I'd written
296 words. Pay attention.