The day that inspired the humanistic and considerably syfy adventures of Flash Fiction Friday. I ingested too much caffeine, poorly communicated with my partner, and biked fast and hard until my heart felt it might explode before landing at a picnic table in Queens Park writing about love and lust and a couple that exists in my head that I wish to turn into a screenplay some day. What was most distracting was the fictitious tale I’d invented about the junkies who’d occupied the same table the night before and how I’d probably catch a cold or heroine addiction.
I napped and every single preconceived notion that I possessed regarding vulnerability surfaced when I awoke. And then I wrote a story.