“What sort of short story would it take for you to enjoy my writing?” I asked my wife.
“You know what sort of books I like to read,” she answered.
“Murder romance?” I said.
“Yup,” she said.

Homicide Detective Taylor arrived on the scene at 7:38 in the morning.

“What do we have?” he asked.

“Looks like a suicide,” the lead police officer said.

Inside the home, the back bedroom, he saw the body, face down on the floor, arms tucked beneath his chest, a dark red-black hole penetrating his right temple. Once the coroner arrived and they were allowed to move the man’s body, they found a 38-special under him.

“Yeah, looks like a suicide, but I’ll know for sure once I get him on the table,” the doc said.

Hours later the scene was released to the family, namely the man’s estranged wife, Naomi Miller. Taylor was the last to leave the scene.

“I did it okay, then?” she asked, with a smile.

“Perfect,” Taylor whispered in her ear as he held her in his arms.

His cellphone rang, “Taylor,” a long pause, “I see.”

He hung up and looked at Naomi, “Problem?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Taylor answered, “No gun-shot residue on his right hand.”

“Damn it!” Naomi growled.

Her anger turned Taylor on. He’d worry about the evidence, or the lack thereof, in the morning.

Right now, Taylor had his murderous girlfriend to comfort all night long.

The train used to stop here in the early years of the 20th century. But like truth and opposing opinions of the early years of this 21st century, the building is now de-platformed and being allowed to decay until it is but a shell of its once-bustling self.

A friend suggested planting this cone. A wonderful idea. The seeds are gone though, blown away by the perennial and hapless wind or eaten, and by now defecated where ever the animal has decided, only to grow wild or wither away, unnurtured, or worse — to never grow again.

Everything that my parents wanted when I was a kid, came true last night, as American’s fell asleep once again. All I could do was watch the sunset on the high Nevada desert and on the United States one last time. A dark winter has come across this land.

Cattle, clouds, shades of various degrees, extracted from sunlight across Nevada’s high desert. Peaceful and serene. What life was like once, should be like now. Cowboy up!

Mouth-watering mushrooms are what Elisa Jenkins wanted. So she ventured out into the nearby field in search of the delicate morsels.

She found several that were not edible, and two that were absolutely deadly if eaten, a poison so intense that they could shut down a man’s central nervous system within minutes of consumption. Elisa marveled at them but did not touch them.

Soon she entered a large copse of trees, tall, slender, and inviting, where she discovered what she desired. Mushrooms everywhere.

Elisa Jenkins was what they were desiring to, as she quickly learned that she could not outrun mouth-watering mushrooms.

My Cousin Elmo says, “It was a hell of a game that was played on Capitol Hill today, between the Patriots and the Stealers. The Stealers won 306 -232.”

Tom finished straightening his red silk tie, making certain the double Windsor knot was as tight as he could make it. Not given to wearing a tie, he wanted to make sure he made a lasting impression.

“Come on,” the man in the doorway barked, “Time to go.”

Tom glanced one more time in the mirror and smiled. He looked absolutely dashing, he thought.

“Don’t know why you even bothered,” the man at his side gruffed.

Tom said nothing. He was concentrating on maintaining his nerve.

“So do you wanna blindfold or do you wanna see it coming?” the man growled.

My Cousin Elmo says, “As President, Joe Biden promised to create a facemask mandate — and now — a womandate.”

My Cousin Elmo says, “If you follow up Amen with Awoman, you are a moron.”