Harvey longed for the day that Samsung created a refill button on the remote.
The cigarette in her mouth created a powerfully erotic silhouette, like the sketch of some woman Goya had kept to himself; the smoke was a grey, vaporous, enchanting cape and I was trapped and exiled in its pattern of revealing, once it cleared, the renewed beauty of her vivid, dark, wine glass eyes.
It was that final slasher/tear-jerker that drove Sherry over the edge — after all, the breakup was three years, one month, and two days in the past — so she drained her wine glass, slipped into the crumpled wedding dress stained with tears, and walked through the front door to a fresh destiny she prayed had that Lifetime movie “happy” ending she not just craved, but oh so richly deserved.
His life reduced to water in a wineglass, massaging seat cushion and the remote such a fall from the glamour of the red carpet.
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