This is much like what my life has been like for the last few years anyway, but now the few friends I have who would visit and sometimes walk with me in the park, are also in self isolation. My already small world has shrunk. My husband who had been driving to Connecticut three days...
Author Susan Furlong has a way to keep you on your toes searching for answers just like the detectives in the story. The characters created by Furlong are spot on and I enjoyed getting to know them and their part in this story. It was fun seeing where the romance would pop up, because...
He came up close, opening my eyelids with his fingers. “Hello there,” he said, his mouth an inch from my face. He still wore a ski mask, but I could see the crinkles around his eyes and the outline of his smiling lips. “You’re beautiful,” he said. Who the fuck is this ...
than wet the fingers and the hand. (I canalmost feel the icy water as I type.) ButI will huddle within my jacket’s wooland the gooseflesh will be a cosy thrill. Somewhere outside, not far from here,others will huddle too – in corners of thehouse they work to build; the mongrel...
“At the risk of sounding like my great aunt, I love books. I love holding books. I love thumbing through books. I love marking up pages, I love perusing bookshelves, I love feeling the paper between my fingers. As a boy growing up in Mahopac, New York, I used to rush to Walden...
We also all grew up in the same neighborhood, so that helped. Our cousins are really more like siblings. Like new additions to any family, one must experience the “first impression” to see if they “fit in.” I have seen my cousins mercilessly ridicule “outsiders” on their first (...
I do have my guy at the local shop that is going to try and get me a repair or maybe replacement*fingers crossed* for my TS3 driver(i told the story in another thread but to keep it short, the weight cartridge somehow popped lose of its track and is now rattling around inside the...
“Hi there, Mrs. Snyder. Glad to see you sporting our team colors today.” With a winning smile, the young man gestures at Nona’s beret with firm fingers that brush the brim ever so slightly. Nona grins, hesitant but proud. “Stuart had to run out …” the young man goes on. “...
With a sigh, she drops it in her buggy anyway then scans the shelves again, squints at the creased scrap of a list between her gnarled fingers. Marmalade. Maybe if I think it hard enough, she will remember …It’s the orange marmalade you want, the one with the red gingham cinched ...