Harry Wendorff
Stories (2)
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Critique: Sliced Bread
The race to be the “best thing” in the eyes of the American populace has one perennial silver medalist. Sliced Bread. Surely, sheared starch satiates some. However, it’s employ as a metric of greatness is baffling. Sliced bread is the “most okayest thing” since itself. Consider jet skis instead, perhaps.
By Harry Wendorff2 years ago in Critique
Blurred Vision
Blurred Vision Mr. Herrick is a wrinkled man. He lives in a small colonial home next to a churchyard, a rusted wire link fence as the only means of marking the difference between his lawn and the humble graveyard that grew on the same land. The house is painted in a yellow that years ago was robust as lemon, but now has forgotten the brightness of its former hue. The trim, however, was a loud, youthful red, like the lips of a charming smile from an elegant lady. Within the perimeter of the ruby trim on the send of floor was an expansive bay window, so wide and open, it begs you to peer through it.
By Harry Wendorff2 years ago in Fiction
