by Eric Nathaniel Ferencz

Elbow grease, gnashing teeth, and an intensely furled brow would be little match for the contents of a misplaced wine glass, once filled to the brim. The bloodstains on the carpet. Mme Velise swooned, arching her swan spine as her delicate palm caught the single, perfect bead of sweat that rolled, no, fell from her hairline. Perhaps the tears of a bun tied too tightly. A collective gasp pulled the heavens but an inch closer to the earth. "Enough of this" I brazenly announced whilst turning towards the band, my hands becoming those of a conductor, beckoning the band to play, play on.


Eric Nathaniel Ferencz is a handsome young author with a moustache that would put Tom Selleck to shame.