By Paul Clark (aka motomynd)
After returning home from shopping, unpacking, and having a late dinner, she put their son to bed while her husband tended to their cats. Then he sat at the dining table for his evening shot of whiskey.
She came out of their son’s room and sat across from him.
“Scotch?” she asked. “You know I hate the way that makes you smell.”
“Yes, I do. That’s why I’m having a shot of mezcal instead. Sombra. It’s the best.”
“So, after what happened tonight, you actually think I might let you close enough to me that I could smell what you are drinking?”
“I always have high hopes.”
By Paul Clark (aka motomynd)
And so they went from the Builders Depot parking lot to wander Lots of Stuff. And she looked at aisles of curtains, and rugs, and her son looked at toy cars, and finally chose four he deemed worthy of some of his birthday money. And then her son and husband went to the back of the store, to look for a solar-powered light with a stout steel stake that she had seen in an ad. She went the opposite way, for toiletry organizers and a new rug for the bathroom.
By Paul Clark (aka motomynd)
“There’s just nothing good about 36-degree rain.” That was what the man thought, as they left Builders Depot with their two gallons of paint and trudged through the dark parking lot toward their car. “Enjoying your birthday?” he asked, glancing at his wife with what he meant as a smile but realized too late was likely a smirk.
