“Let’s Not Think About It” by Lynne Bronstein
“Let’s not think about it,” was what he kept telling her. She knew he might kill her. She knew too much.
“Let’s not think about it,” was what he kept telling her. She knew he might kill her. She knew too much.
Pepper, it’s you and me now. Haven’t we been happy long as we stayed close?
After a few weeks the VW bug I drove, which I parked at night out by the gravel road a third of a mile from my house in the woods, was burgled.
“Thieves,” Officer Summers said, “are generally lazy.”
Bashir had witnessed his share of riddled bodies since the Americans had invaded, but this was the first from his own hand . . .