PLEASE FORGIVE ME, MIDNIGHT ANGEL by Timothy Boudreau

That morning Cristina’s husband Charley brings her breakfast from the Diner,  gray hair tufting from under his ball cap as he hands her the bag with an egg and cheese sandwich. “Why aren’t you coming again?” she asks as she unwraps it.  “Off to provide another goddamn eight hours of superior customer service,” he says. That’s been his life: jobs with name tags and aprons, jobs where the dickhead customer’s always right.  “Make sure you eat before you leave,” he goes on. “Give my best to her family.”  “Not sure who’s even left.” “Wasn’t for staffing issues, I’d be there.”…

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LITTLE SISTER, WHY HAVEN’T WE HEARD FROM YOU? by Timothy Boudreau

We remember the shy teenager who visited aunts and uncles with a novel and a piece of knitting.  The adult in an over-sized sweater, huddled in a corner over a cup of tea. Though separated by ten years we had similar interests and for a time considered ourselves creative people. We always meant to collaborate.  What happened? * Especially now I feel you may have insight to offer.  Wisdom from a place unknown to the rest of us. Thus enclosed find a few ideas.  Feel free to alter them in any way.  Merge your memories. Melt your vision over mine…

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