Sarge walks into the kitchen and looks between the coffee all over the fridge door, the smashed porcelain on the ground and me, chuckling.
“That went well,” he says and lets his own laughter rip from his lips. “Heard her shrieking like a banshee out in the yard.”
“She wants to go home.” I rub my hands over my eyes and try to relax, but knowing she’s pissed isn’t great for me.”
“Women are different,” Sarge says with a shrug.
“Tell me about it.”
“Sometimes it’s best to shut the fuck up and not fight ‘em.” Sarge sits in the chair that Nix was sitting in.
“You pussy-whipped?” I ask as I feel my eyebrows draw together in question.
“Hmmm.” He reverts back to normal Sarge. “Women wanna be told what to do, but you need to make it look like it’s their idea.”
“That’s fucked. She should just do what I say and be happy with it.”
Sarge shakes his head. “She’s right, you’re a dick.”
There's something about the written word that is pure magic.
Possibly it's the fact that there are 26 letters in the English alphabet, and they can create something so beautiful or so empowering that they're able to change our lives.
How important is it that we break suit and stretch our minds?
I like to think of myself as 'unique'. My stories aren't for everyone, and sometimes I may push what you believe to be 'normal'.
Normal is subjective.
I prefer to be known as a person who's never been 'bound by custom' but is 'unique by choice'.
I hope you do read and enjoy my stories.
Until next time
Mxx
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