By E. B. Bradley
“I plan of dying before I turn 35,” she said as she balanced on a chair, trying to get her panties from the ceiling fan.
“Why’s that?” I ask, muffled from lying face down on the bed.
“Because nothing good could possibly happen after that,” she answered pulling them back on.
I haven’t seen that girl in years, I hope she’s doing well. Still as beautiful and wild as ever, like a human firework. I hope her plan fails. I’d love to see her ride life with the same vigor at 60 as she did at 19.
“I write because words can show the romanticism of everyday life.” – the writer