|
Bud Grossmann’s
Words of the Week
for the Week of
November 21, 2010
Previously unpublished fiction.
© 2010 by Bud Grossmann.
All Rights Reserved.
|
| | |
1981 CB750K, 2010
© 2010 by Bud Grossmann
|
A MISS AS GOOD AS A MILE
madison craigslist > personals > casual encounters
Shake your plump rump with me. - w4m
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: 2010-11-16, 11:21AM CST
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
a single parent always broke and struggling, do i drive to you? no, i cant waste gas, living in the country bored bored bored, i am not ugly but not a number 10, i drink and drink alot sometimes, i dont have little ones, they are teens, i wish i could find someone who is not into breaking a girls heart, i have had enough pain, i am honest and work hard to make ends meet, i do not want to go through winter alone and the holdidays to come, i like younger guys 24-30 and not no mamas boys, i am old fashioned in ways and would perfer to stay at home and clean and cook, i do not go out to barsm safer to drink at home, i need someone in my life, to share my thoughts and drama, yes i am a female so drama always follows, i will not post a picture, never know who is on here, if you are him and you are single hit me up.
• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
PostingID: 2*6*4*1*7*
motorcyclist david fischer, cruising craigslist on a frosty november night, dodged a deer and slowly slid into a ditch on the country road called casual encounters. he thumbed the kill switch, checked as best he could for damage in the dark, then wrestled his cb750 upright once again. noting nothing worse than an evident scuff across his bony butt, fischer climbed aboard and brought the honda back to life. with three beers consumed not long ago, he doubted now the doe was real. twenty-four to thirty she had specified. what the hell kind of spread was that? why not twenty-five to thirty-one? even so, fischer had arrived three decades too late too soon. while the bike idled now, on its side stand on the gravel of the shoulder, fischer limped back down the shallow slope, crunching crisp leaves of oak beneath his boots. he took a leak. the taillight painted pink the steam that rose.
♦
|
I would welcome your thoughts on this page (or any of my
others). Write to me at the following address. Please
be sure to spell Grossmann with two n’s and
mention what page you are writing about.
Thanks! BUD GROSSMANN
|
Top of this page
|
|
