The Fault in Our Party Supplies
I’m a piñata. Papier-mâché and crepe paper. My inner turmoil bred of my fate occupies the same space as fun-sized candy. Twizzlers, Nerds, Airheads, nougat and chocolate that melts and cools with the humidity in the back of a party store.
The first chapter of an in-progress novel.
“The voice began on a Tuesday morning while Monte Walsh was standing in his kitchen, holding an unopened package of bacon over the garbage can.”