The greasy spoon waitress lets out a whoop and waves the ten-dollar tip in the air. She shoots a glance at my table: a challenge.
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The greasy spoon waitress lets out a whoop and waves the ten-dollar tip in the air. She shoots a glance at my table: a challenge.
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“Whenever I dwell for any length of time on my own shortcomings, they gradually begin to seem mild, harmless, rather engaging little things, not at all like the staring defects in other people’s characters.”
© 2006–2009 Spitball Army — Sitemap — Cutline by Chris Pearson
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