#writingdaily

I love reading and writing. I write without making time and without ceremony. I put words everywhere. I think I misplace energy. I’m taking account of where I speak, to whom, why. I’m more conscious of what I listen to, who I listen to and what I allow in my feeds. I’m also learning to curate through my hobby. Speaking of hobbies. When you connect with others through something you love the…

That summer day was so hot butter could melt on the sidewalk. The rubber of the tires of that old Chevy turned to glaze on the warm asphalt with every mile. The sputtering became the backbone to the crooning of the radio until the car trickled to a stop. The car, bright red, flashy, chipped paint, unreliable. Her, amber curls caressing cheekbones, floral dress whipping in the breeze, brow furrowed.

At the office five miles down the road, he is sitting in the worn leather that hugs his body, inhaling the vapors of the sludge from the coffee machine, grey blue eyes scanning the yellowed papers. The boss walks in, straightens his tie, his newsboy hat tips slightly off to the side.

“My secretary’s car broke down a couple miles down the road. Go get her.”

His shirt sticks to his back with sweat, his eyes squinting at the kaleidoscope of flowers on the horizon. She is rose, carnation, hyacinth, marigold, azalea, daisy. She spins into focus, his chest is doused in cool water. This is the start of