Me and Mrs. X

by Brad Rose

Two counties over, me and Mrs. X sit in a booth at the back of BBQ Jack’s Rib House. We’re joking and laughing, carefree as Adam and Eve at their first picnic. A little gold cross dangles from her neck, as she leans even closer and whispers in my ear, “What the hell are husbands for, anyway?” She giggles that little girl giggle, and I kiss her again, but this time I keep my eyes open. Outside, the dark sky unlocks like a jail cell, and a sudden rain begins to pound down. As if a clean, hard, downpour might wash away all the sin in the world.


Brad Rose's website is here.