Ten thirty-seven, Wednesday morning, the mother of the boy he put in a wheelchair the night he drove drunk heading home from the annual office Christmas party felt a pang of anger, then relief. Ten thirty-seven Wednesday morning, his wife knew but she kept folding laundry.
Ten thirty-seven, Wednesday morning, the crow perched on the branch above his window cawed; his dog Paco whined; Marco his sponsor felt queasy; his daughter Kimmy called him; his shadow raced across the empty bottle; his neighbor doubled her batch of sweet rolls; the gulf wind gusted, while sodden summer thunder clouds passed overhead.
Ten thirty-seven, Wednesday morning, the mother of the boy he put in a wheelchair the night he drove drunk heading home from the annual office Christmas party felt a pang of anger, then relief. Ten thirty-seven Wednesday morning, his wife knew but she kept folding laundry.
JD Clapp
28/4/2023 03:24:41 pm
Thanks! This was an experiment--not my typical style of voice.
G. Lynn Brown
28/4/2023 05:17:21 pm
Nicely done!
Kim Favors
29/4/2023 01:55:54 am
More like this, please.
John Clapp
29/4/2023 02:49:53 am
Thank you !
Sue Clayton
30/4/2023 03:58:34 am
Your experiment worked, John. Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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