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Models and Me

I get back to my building and reach into my back pocket. I dig for the fob that opens the front door, but can't find it. Each pocket gets patted in anticipation of the familiar key-jingle noise, but I don't hear it.

I wait for someone else to come into the building and I take the elevator up. There are two sliding glass doors that lead from the living room to the patio, and I sometimes leave one unlocked by accident. Hopeful, I shuffle to the first door and try it. Locked. I look inside and see the glow of my bedroom lights.

It's November, which wouldn't mean much in Austin if it weren't for the cold front we're dealing with. I move on to the next door, and it's also locked.

Rain ( a Shared Short Story of Mine)

On The Sore Armadillo


“Taxi!” raising my hand to fetch a cab because I am running late. I normally walk, but I may or may not have enjoyed myself a little too much last night, hoping the Yankees-Red Sox game would happen, despite the stormy forecast. “Sweet,” giving a little fist pump, I never get a cab this quickly in the morning. It’s so nice today, how could it have been a shitty day yesterday? BEEP BEEP! I love this town and hate it at the same time. If I had a dollar for every time I had almost been hit by a taxi I would be a rich man, or would at least break even from the night before.

“Where you headed to?” asked the cab driver.

“Starbucks at 250 Vesey Street,” I yawned.

As I complain to the taxi driver about last night’s rain delay and my lack of effort this morning he shows no empathy and just like a one night stand he sends me packing at the end of our date.

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