Chapter 1: Where There's Smoke... Annika Whenever I sit out on my balcony (and I say 'balcony' with a great sense of irony, but my humble studio apartment with its fenced ledge suits me and my needs just fine) and light a joint, I always do so inconspicuously. Or so I hope. I've deliberately woven ivy and fairy lights around two-thirds of the wrought...
© 2018 Chloe Tzang. All rights reserved. The author asserts her moral right to be identified as the author of this story (although she seriously doesn't think anyone else would want to be identified with writing this insanity anyhow but you never know). This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the expre...
Please comment, critique, praise and vote. Your feedback is immensely motivating! Chapter 1: Where There's Smoke... Annika Whenever I sit out on my balcony (and I say 'balcony' with a great sense of irony, but my humble studio apartment with its fenced ledge suits me and my needs just fine) and light a joint, I always do so inconspicuously. Or so I h...
Okay, so it's been a long time since I've added to my story list. Call it the stress of my bitch-wife throwing me out of my house because she wants a divorce. Oh, well. That shit happens. This story is long. If you have read my other stuff, that's a given. No, I'm not going to split my shit into sixty-nine parts to keep your hands and socks busy. There's...
Part 1 "Here's some burnt connective tissue," she said, wiping a small grease splatter off her nipple and forking three strips of bacon onto Rod's plate. Before turning back to the stove she snapped off a piece for herself. Burnt connective tissue tasted so good sometimes, especially on a late winter morning like this. Her comment was playing to her vegeta...
1. "Your new book is selling pretty well," said Irina Slonimska, Roger's editor. "Plumbing for the Panic-Stricken fills a definite need. I don't mind telling you that it saved me several hundred dollars in New York City plumbers' bills when I was editing the manuscript." "Did it really?" asked Sharon Hillstein, eying her old college roommate across the t...