6 min read
If That Dress Could Talk
“So what’s your story, morning glory?” he asked her, staring into her big brown eyes. They were like two magnets pulling him in. Of all the juke joints in town, he had to walk into this one. Where he would see this exotic gold skinned beauty in a dress that could cure cancer. It was a red dress. One that had seen its share of blood and lives fucked up beyond redemption. If dresses could talk, this one could write an encyclopedia of misery. He hadn’t given any of this the slightest thought. He just wanted to wet his whistle (and something else) that night. Seeing this kind of beauty in a place like this had to be a fluke…