After fourth period, it would be time for lunch, time to take another tentative step out of childhood, time to put the fear aside and embrace that right-of-passage that all young men must endure; I had to talk to the girl, to ask her out on a date, to figure out what one was supposed to do on a date.
Jill sat at the sleek, white formica bar sipping her café au lait and mentally kicking herself for agreeing to meet with Michael. Again. I could just leave and go back to the hospital, she thought to herself, he wouldn’t even know I had been here.
“We need to get some food,” Julie said as she rolled down the dusty passenger window hoping to let some of the cool night air into the stuffy cab. She had already changed twice and now her last shirt, drenched with sweat, clung to her body.
Announcing the launch of the 505. The idea is to write one story post, every week, consisting of no more than 505 words based on a writing prompt of some kind: images, words, thoughts. Why 505 words? Because, why the hell not.