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Old Junker

I sit here in my old junker, the gravel dust blowing across the parking lot, the sweat pouring from my brow, and all I can think about is my wife. All I can think about are her last moments, how her chest rose and fell beneath that ugly mustard sweater she'd always wear. I think about her long, brown flaxen hair, and the way it would fall at either side of her breasts like beautiful silk curtains caught in the sunshine. And that perfume, oh that scent she'd wear along her neckline. It would take just one kiss along her collar and there it was, as sweet as day.

It's sad to think I'll never see her again, never touch her with passion again. I'll never have the chance to properly say goodbye to the only woman I ever loved, and that's the hardest part. That's what I have to live with.

Now, with the sweat from my brow finding its way onto my shirt, and the stink coming from the trunk, I better unload her body and get the fuck outta here.

Story by:

Jordan Mason

15 July 2014