I'm an author and freelance writer, among other things. Read more about me at http://tdh.me
The drink tasted oh so sweet, it was almost intoxicating, that taste. The alcohol helped of course. She was on the other side of the room, dazzling and so out of my league.
Palace Hotel is a place so far from the real world I equally want to run away and stay here forever.
Cathy awoke with a start, one of those unpleasant ones with her heart throbbing almost too hard for her chest to handle. She was tense, aroused and wet, but also scared and confused.
Oh how I love the smell of her skin, her hair so lush and black. How the curves of her body, naked under a thin white sheet, look in the dim dying lights of the street light.
The lights slipping through the half closed blinds illuminated my body, playing over my skin in an almost sensual way. Not to me obviously, but I would like to think that it would be to someone else.
Hi Tom, I trust you're doing well. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the epidemic I wrote to you about earlier have escalated.
It was one of those days. First the carpool delay, then the broken down bus, and the total lack of connecting trains.
The blood was everywhere or so it seemed for Sara. Her dress was ruined and so was the carpet, the stray thought about cleaning bills sneaking into her mind uninvited.
Bishop shook his head, which only made it hurt even more. He couldn't stand, so he just sat on the cold concrete floor.
The final drops in the glass are always tinted by the taste of failure, and of the end of all things good. ~ TDH.
I didn’t recognize the street this morning, or was it perhaps late in the afternoon. People passed me, eyes on the pavement and avoiding contact.
It is easy to forget the high cost of living..
Start with some good music, blues or hard rock. You should feel a bit dirty when you mix this drink. Which reminds me, this isn't a cocktail and that's important. It's a grogg.
Slippery. That was the feeling I couldn’t shake after having spoken to the salesman. I stood there feeling violated, a folder in hand as well as his card, not knowing what to do next.
Writers write..
You know what. I’m not like other toys. This shouldn’t come as a surprise to you since I’m not a toy at all, but some people seem to hold on to that misconception. Of me being a toy I mean.