#cbcstarters

     How pathetic was it to be days away from turning fourty years old and being stood up by a Tinder date? ‘You really need to respect yourself, Jesus’ she mustered the words up in her head, so disapointed in herself that she’d even showed up in the first place. Was that what people did, make plans and just don’t show up? Maybe that was what she’d been doing wrong all this time - too damn responsible. “Glass of Pinot Noir, please,” she almost begged of her bartender as he approached her - even he looked sad for her. So, so pathetic, she continued to mentally kick herself. “Thanks,” she greeted with a low tone, full glass almost too quickly brought up to her lips for her to sip on the beverage. Shit, she thought, as a familiar silhouette made its way across the bar’s door -- really not the best time to run into someone, Amanda thought with another, larger gulp of wine.

Open [SMS - Rory Moskowitz]

open !

“Do you know I own an island? Like an actual fucking island. One that I could fly to, plant a flag with my face on, and be the damn President without all this shit. Instead I’m letting myself be embarrassed by a bigoted, constipated sailor. What the hell am I doing?” Against all better judgement, TJ had switched off his work phone the second the post-debate polls came in. He had shunned his advisors, and their masked disappointment, in favour of an old friend and a couple beers.

     Once again, her mother had ran into someone she knew in the streets of D.C. - honestly, how that woman got around to doing what she was supposed to when she was supposed to was a mystery to Katherine. Debra had spent many years in the city and, apparently, knew most of its population, so it really shouldn’t have been a surprise to her daughter when she started a conversation about how’s your husband, kids do grow up so fast! and oh, in this economy...for the third time that day. Without so much as a low “be right back” mumble, Katherine gracefully slid away from the pair of women chatting on the sidewalk and started window-shopping just for the sake of it. She could not believe her luck when a shop’s door swung open and almost slammed against her nose - if she hadn’t been as quick and swift... “Fuck--” she exclaimed, taken aback for a moment before scrutiniing the other’s face. “Do I know you?”

“Her body is barely even cold in the ground, for Christ’s sake. But of course they’re making it about guns.” William’s nose nearly wrinkled in distaste. He had been flipping through a newspaper with a cup of black coffee in front of him when the opinion piece caught his eye and his irritation, too. “People used to have respect, you know. Do we really need to be using her death for grandstanding less than a week after the fact?”

Françoise’s day had been comprised of one meeting after another. A seemingly endless string of people, but now, finally, the last one of the day. “How nice to see you.” She smiled with the utmost sincerity as her assistant let them in, rising to shake their hand. “Please, take a seat. Can I offer you something to drink?” Courtesies complete, the ambassador began. “I learned many things during my four years in Moscow, and Beijing before that.” Secrets. Some gained in an official capacity. Others...less so. “But if there’s one thing I’ve become absolutely convinced of, it’s that the relationship between France and the United States is vital, perhaps more than ever before.” 

text 📧 alexander + ?