Upon taking her trembling hand at the tracks, his smitten eyes grew dear, breath momentarily hugged from a heartbeat skipped and summer tanned pores fashioned exquisite runnels of exhale.
After he offered a subtle lamp of assurance, they moved in tandem across the rails and simultaneously found safety on the other side.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
The one thing he repeatedly told her, way back in their not so splended when, was to never overplay her hand, regardless of where it was dealt.
Fresh out of an unsettling six year stint at Greengrove max, she took a couple of unpositive steps forward, slung a faded denim knapsack over her left shoulder and for the first time in more than a bit, began again.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
The new home owner turned and extended his hand, but was only greeted with the tattered, unright air (of a god forsaken place) blowing in it’s own rhythm over an unfamiliar space.
The yet unmet next door neighbor had suddenly become nothing more than a crusty off-white handkerchief sitting without purpose on Preston Tapley’s thirsty front lawn.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 161)
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Mick had stopped and was standing bug-eyed amidst the overgrown straw of a long forgotten front lawn when he started to feel funny.
As the sweat began to surface, he pulled a crusty handkerchief out of his back pocket and haphazardly patted his furrowed brow.
(Continued fromMytwosentences 159)
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
As he gathered himself, Preston wasn’t sure if his shakey hand was a result of the blurry shape closing the distance or simply something else.
He continued to look directly at the solid unlocked door, even as his nosey neighbor was now only feet away wearing suspender-held cargo shorts and a smelly t-shirt.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 158)
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Preston was about to slide the not so shiny brass key back into his sweaty pocket when his diminished periphery caught sight of someone.
That second sound, the one that gave him a spine wriggling shrill, was wearing on him as his glazed attention finally began to focus on Mick and his unbrushed teeth getting closer.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 157)
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
He was a stout man with thick fingers who willingly engaged your ear, although following his hackneyed conversation style was akin to skipping alongside Dorothy through an endless field of soporific poppies.
With a great big beer belly that was kept snuggly in place by faded green suspenders, the grizzled ex-landscaper could be seen almost every morning tending to his retirement project while periodically sipping from an oversized mug of coffee.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
The terminally sick farm boy, who was no more than five, impatiently prattled from a smushed back seat beset with nacho chip crumbs and a warm helping of afternoon orange/yellow sunsplash.
Without mouthing a single word, which in most circles would be considered perfectly normal, he blearily windowed the continuous zip of painted white road slashes and loosely held a hopeful grip on moist and falling apart animal crackers.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
There is a comforting moment nestled within an impromptu visit, beyond quasi welcoming hugs and make up protecting pecky kisses, where thumping dj beats and conversational toe taps become glad-you-are-here high fives.
Amidst this disorienting array of rapidly moving light beams, an aloof curmudgeon from two houses up the street swayed and silently lip sang while sitting on matted grass beneath the colorful flash of an old sycamore tree.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
(He just arrived. Inform PICKERING)
All of his adult life clothes had been a systematic repetition of perpetual insignificance, but his hair, that was a different story.
He carefully styled his hair, not so much like James Bond, more like James Dean, if James Dean spent a little extra time in front of the mirror making a possible perfect a true perfection.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 148)
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
A man wearing a silly little Zorro mask somehow snuck into a June get-together and placed a ribbon tied gift near an outdoor tv, which was showing a baseball game that everyone, and I mean everyone, was watching.
He confidently kissed the host, who didn’t have a clue who he was or why he was there, and effortlessly removed a lush red rose from it’s vased stem and strolled out of the fenced-in backyard with a fresh pocket flower and a dustless pair of blue cowboy boots.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
As I dealt with my discombobulated bearings, which were truly amiss, I got an unexpected low hum in my ear that couldn’t possibly have come from anyplace else but the driveway.
I, in a dizzingly confused state, turned around apprehensively to drop to my battered knees and stare at a car that I think I remember from a horrifying night that my best friend died.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 135)
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads)
Legend considered him a dashing scarlet pimpernel who could flawlessly wear a finely tailored silk suit while effortlessly grilling fresh bison beneath the endless blue skies of campestral South Dakota.
The face slap of reality spoke when his tolerant new bride calmly pointed out that his annoying hebetude had left their crowded backyard barbecue without sufficient propane gas or any dry matches.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
The flightpath of an aimless gossamer was drifting in a weakening afternoon breeze that tickled noses and made just about everyone rub their eyes amidst the dusty setting sunshine.
As one bid adieu to a newly discovered bourbon still, flighty fluffy somethings from an alcohol-driven yesterday continued to float into an airy ballroom we call today.
(Photo: Michael Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
On a Sunday stroll with muted celerity, did you happen to hear the very first breath that tasted the tickled sweetness borne within the hypaethral expanse of today’s sunrise?
Unfortunately, our day to day psittacism frequently overlooks the simple amplitude and sensory quality that each of us honestly and uniquely strives to posess.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Mytwosentences 