R.D. Smithey

Pretty Paper

One contrary wheel wobbled erratically as Thomas Moon pushed against the weighted shopping cart. He looked down at the mountain of Christmas presents and imagined his poor wallet gasping for air and fainting in a huff. He smiled as his wife, Christine, waddled up to the cart carrying what seemed

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The Vessel

The realtor still wouldn’t look me in the face as he held the keys out to me. I couldn’t blame him. Most people were put off by the lines etched across my face. Suppose most think I’m some kind of zealot or some such. I didn’t give a shit what

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