Elegy Flynn leaned against the bar glumly. She cupped her chin in her hands and rested her elbows on the bar. “I’m bored.” I was lying on the couch, reading a magazine for the eleventh time. I was bored too.
I rolled one of the balls on the pool table towards a pocket. “Elegy, I’m confused.” It stopped just short of going in. “I really hate the conversations we have that begin this way,” said Elegy Flynn, the goddess of
Unfortunately, I’m going to be unable to provide an Elegy Flynn story for July. I’m really sorry about this. I don’t take breaking a commitment lightly, but I also feel, in terms of priorities, that letting an Elegy story slide
I squinted. “Why does the bar look like a hospital?” Two seconds ago, I’d been holding a rum runner and wearing normal clothes. Now, I was holding a syringe, complete with a wickedly glinting needle, and wearing an antiquated nurse’s
Achava Zenon stormed into the bar, slamming the door behind her. She clutched her head with one hand. “Shit!” she said. Achava was a volur, which was a person who was unstuck in time and traveled around fixing time paradoxes.
For Andre. At least I know you’ll get the jokes. Elizabeth Peters slammed the door of the bar behind her. “I’ve done it,” she said, striding across the room to slump down in a stool. “And now I’d like some
I was inside the bathroom in my apartment. My boyfriend Richard was pounding on the door. “You better come out of there, Cathy.” It was early evening, but Richard was already drunk. Back when we first started dating three years