"Airport? Gotcha." The cabbie slipped onto the wood anti-sweat cushion. Not that it did any good. The back of the cab smelled of sweaty butt-crack, dog, and recycled beer all topped of with a whiff of vomit--the perfect nosegay for a lousy day.
"Hey, you were at dat Writer's convention didn't you? Well How'd a like to hear my story. Gotta be better than all desperate crying would-be authors crying their eyes out over some guy who kept saying no, no, no. I got a real story. It's fiction, not se...
Published on September 27, 2009 07:10