Pete’s gaze had intensified. He reached under the counter, eye contact unbroken, and raised up, smirking, holding an opaque green glass bottle whose label was so worn it was no longer readible. He set the bottle down on the counter as a hunter might display a prized kill. Francisco knew though, something inside him knew. [...]
Posted on August 17th, 2009 by Pete
Filed under: Francisco's Journey, Writing | 5 Comments »
