“Did we used to look like that?” he mused, eyeing the freshly elected officials. “Probably,” she replied flatly. “But a few weeks of this congressional logjam should be enough to snuff out their ambitions.”
When I turned 34, I decided to write a series of short stories. The only catch? Each story had to be 34 words. 34 years, 34 words. No more, no less. These are the fruits.