The Regulars

The Primrose Hotel doesn’t really have regulars. When I waited tables at the Grub N’ Grab, we had at least ten people who would eat there each day, or each week, or on some schedule you could depend on. But that doesn’t happen at the Primrose. First of all, it’s probably the location. We aren’t

Claws and Teeth

Claws are for scratching. Teeth are for biting. Forked tongues are for smelling.  . Deep breath in. Shaking breath out. Repeat. — Sometimes it was a hotel, sometimes a hostel, but tonight it was a roadside motel somewhere on the northeastern coastline. Salty air had disfigured the once vibrant 1970-something paint. The sleepy clerk had

The Present

Rochelle arrived at the gold-gilded hotel in her red overcoat, black studded gloves, and her favorite kitten heels. At seventy-seven, she knew her coiffed red hair wasn’t fooling anyone, but she puffed it up anyway and looked around for Shayla. Rochelle was notoriously late, and as tradition stated, Shayla would be waiting for her at