While waiting for The Man to finish working out and we head to Brooklyn Bagel for breakfast (In NYC “breakfast” is perfect acceptable at 1pm), here is my Sunday Edition of Six-Word Stories compiled during the course of the last week.

Pens pack power. Private propensities proclaimed.

Pop the champagne, and your dreams.

Palms sweat. Cup falls. Party foul.

DUI. Two amputations. Really expensive cocktails.

Chance meeting. Love of a lifetime.

Hot like fire. Left with ashes.

Only married because her father died.

Seven friends. One funeral. Six friends.

College ended. So did our friendship.

Best friends. Time goes on. Strangers.

One friend: two faces. Trust vanquished.

“But we’re friends.” “You were friends.”


Once alcohol was removed from the equation, and as my liver and soul continue to heal, I will be less apologetic in and for my writing.