Somewhere in the gas station bathroom, there’s a labored retch.
The woman I find in the stall is feverish, vomit stained, and in Bill’s clothes.
“I changed,” she moans, “like you did, Liz.”
I carry her out, big man that I am now. “We’ll make it work, Love.”
Copyright © by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.
Discover more of my Aethereal Musings.
Leave a Reply