Sunny Saturday Morning (Blogophilia 33.6)
The book was on the table, almost even with his eyes. It had an old, cracked binding and no front cover. Parchment leaves shaded from beige to sienna exposed like he was. It seemed to shimmer and float, like a magic scroll or talisman. A meaning of a dream, maybe? Dream? Yes. Had to be. Mark tried reach for it, but his arm was pinned under her ribs. Morning sunilluminated the room, showing their naked forms tossed amongst the sheets. Arms and legs gave like sacks of flour against whatever surface they touched, whether the mattress or each others legs. Not a pretty sight, but who was he to talk? He leaned over and kissed the top of the pale shoulder, drinking in the mix of sweat and Chanel. It had been so long... Red and green neon had always taunted as he walked to home from work Blinking "chicken" in light displays in front of him. He finally gave in and stepped in the bar. Inside, it looked like a clubroom. Red leather bar, wi...