by Brad Rose
Your eyes, tiny Dixie Cups, your knuckles, like wooden spools of thread. Just thinking of you made my heart skip, as if I had been tied-up, and thrown down stairs. At the lineup, more than one witness picked you out. In fact, it was unanimous: you were the one, Miss Popular. The police report stated that you were less than partially clothed when they arrived at the scene and found, next to the bleeding body, the gun you’d used — brand new, except for the 40 spent rounds — but who’s counting? Not me.
6S
Brad Rose's latest book is I Wouldn’t Say That, Exactly.