A mocha, a cushy couch. Memories inspired by the man-sandles I saw on the guy sitting catty-corner to me. Oh, how my father would despise those shoes, I thought. And I was off and running.
Working Title: Blood
1st Sentence: When I was about twelve years old, I once put myself into a euphoric state by imagining the act of slamming the back of my brother’s head with a cast iron skillet.
Favorite Sentence: And then I would run lightly up to the back of the sofa, right behind his huge head—barely covered with the same fine hair I had, no protection at all—and hover there, for a moment, thinking like this, this fast, this hard.
Word Length: 822
Photo: Hello, my friend. August 2012.
Daily Shorty 
Whoa! Looks like a keeper.
Thanks but I can’t say the whole shorty lives up to the lines you’re seeing. But maybe revision will make it a beauty.