“I…you…what?” I know. I’m blessed with the gift of gab. The turn of phrase comes naturally to me but this time I was at a loss for words. I sputtered like a lawn mower clinging desperately to life as the last fumes of gasoline thin slowly out of existence in its inner workings.
A Fall Harvest
- Post author By brandy
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- Categories In Fiction, Flash Fiction Saturday, Writing
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