It is business as usual at the Hampton Lounge on a random Tuesday evening toward the close of this most regrettable year, two-thousand and fourteen. The Hampton is an upscale martini bar which ekes out its meager existence amid the raunchy nightclubs of Washington, DC’s Adams Morgan strip. Tourists mostly avoid the Hampton which offers no entertainment, unless the term is defined to include staring drunk-eyed at the widescreen above the bar or at the patrons themselves, as sorry a group of aging hipsters as you’ll ever encounter.
“Miss McBride, in all my years of representing clients whom other less well attuned legal brains would turn down as unwinnable, I have never come across one single case I could not win.” He pursed his lips. Continue reading Pick Your Brain By Jenny Thomson
So you’re out of breath when you swing open the trunk’s lid and you eyeball the space inside there and compare it to the dead hooker cooling ever so slightly at your feet.
The body lay in a heap, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Odd angles, twisted limbs: it sprawled inside the old barn doorway where the shadows were at their blackest. Jed wouldn’t have seen it himself if Gwen hadn’t screamed the place down.
The homeless man staggered into the abandoned house, the sole private home on this barren block in the ghetto. Inside, he discovered only dead, ancient remains and corpses at every stage of decomposition. The smell of death, a toxic, suffocative odor, assaulted him. Yet he did not retreat or rush off. He collapsed on a Continue reading The House Of Mirrors By Dr. Mel Waldman