Amelia saw an old beggar on the street, resting on a stone. She rummaged in her pocket and found her last coin, and wanted to give it to him. But the man shook his head. He would not take it.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but I don’t work on Sundays.’
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
Published by Vincent Mars
20-something high-school dropout. I write as a way of life. I'm a freelancer, a vegetarian, and I listen to Leonard Cohen and watch French films. I'm probably dying, but then so are you, so shouldn't we make the most of our time?
View all posts by Vincent Mars
Wonderful !!!!!!…:-)
🙂
As I struggle to increase my word count for the NaNoWriMo contest (50K words in a single month), I’m reminded that: while I’m a pro at saying the least with the greatest number of words, the writers I most admire do the opposite.
(just think of me as “an admirer”)
Your comment makes me happy Linda!
I tip my hat.
ha ha ha this is hilarious.
Coco’s laugh frightens the birds perched in the trees.
:[
This was cute, made me smile.
-Mahogany
And nor does he eat. Clearly, he’s one of the 47%
Poets should not bother with politics!
Ah. Well, tell that to Octavio Paz, TS Elliot, Allen Ginsberg, Pablo Neruda, Langston Hughes, Garcia Lorca, WB Yeats, Seamus Heaney (who once, unashamedly, hit on my girlfriend at a bookfair in Bologna), Denise Leretov, Adrienne Rich, Lam Thai My Da, ee cummins, Lord Byron, Henrich Heiner, Auden, Erwin Kruger, Joao Almino, et al…
Nice fellows all!
Splendiferous
What does that mean? Peculiar!
Full of splendor
“I don’t work on Sundays,” that’s original 😀