Now this is more my style: hip disengagement (no, it's not a self portrait).
I misheard Dear Wife this morning declare her intent to fix "Chambord eggs," and I instantly thought, "might Cassis be a better choice?"
Of course it was scrambled eggs.
This guy looked kinda like Pete Sampras--young Sampras. When I see Sampras now I feel an awful pang of recognition--he's aged into a kind of woeful face, not quite saggy or swollen but somehow overripe, with eyes that look hurt as they disappear into an aggressive network of folds and overlaps. His mouth has become boozy and ugly. It tries to make a smile and he looks like he's about to weep. His skin looks more and more like vulcanized rubber in an olive complexion.
But what a net game.
Returning to the Horror Flash Fiction Book.
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Going to try and do one a day in this style until all the drawings are done.
The Last Pimple
Story here.
Moonlight Hitcher
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