Lisa ducked behind a crate, bullets stitching the wall just above her head. During a brief lull in the gunfire she popped up and squeezed off a few shots.
That’s what it feels when I see through the rose-tinted glasses. Even the dreary seems exotic, the unhappy seem blissful, the harsh sun bearable.
I could not face him anymore. “Hi”, he said. My brain was taking a break and I could not figure out which one to say first – Thank You or Sorry
She has hairs half cut,That makes her witch lady,She wears the spectacles,That is not fancy,She wears over her round face,That has the appearance of