Friday moves out of the house, so you move next door.
Your shouting rattles the print on the wall – the one we bought at the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam. (Remember admiring the array of tulip bulbs at the Bloomenmarket? And the ridiculous amount of beer we drank that night?) I close my eyes, but it only intensifies the sound, somehow. We were so happy once.
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1 comment:
Started a squidoo lens for Nanofiction. Have linked your fiction friday posts to the lens
http://www.squidoo.com/nanofiction
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