A fine whine

wild muscadine grapes

He poured his glass of merlot on the floor in a thin, deliberate stream, expecting me to immediately move to mop up the puddle.

Fighting the urge to clean, I stepped over his mess to refill my glass. I wiped the maroon splatter from the top of my shoe on the back of my other pant leg, trying to act as if standing on one foot was completely normal.

His heavy sigh was filled with indignation and contempt.

“Aren’t you getting that?” he huffed.

“No,” I said handing him a dishcloth, than taking a sip of wine, “not any longer.”

Wine
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I believe all good fiction includes an element of truth, and all good photography includes an element of fantasy. In this journal I hope to give voice to the stories swirling around in my head, and to capture the images I see through my camera’s lens.

So, tell me what you really think:

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