Melissa Dy-Liacco
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Stories (2)
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There's No Crying Over Spilled Dragon Blood
“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.” We rolled our eyes as the van came to an abrupt stop, jolting everyone halfway out of our seats. Duffy always said the same thing when we arrived on the scene for cleanup duty. Lately, that was practically every other day, so everyone was heartily sick of it, anticipating what came next. I glanced at the rearview mirror and saw Stephen from his place at the front passenger seat, a small, sardonic smile lifting one side of his mouth.
By Melissa Dy-Liacco4 years ago in Fiction
End Notes
We first meet Pat as he emerges from the Wall Street stop of the Number 2 train, making a right turn and entering the shadowed canyon of Wall Street. He deftly dodges early morning tourists standing still in front of the Stock Exchange, armed with cameras and phones on the ends of selfie sticks and oblivious to the dirty looks being thrown their way. He pauses in front of his usual breakfast spot, a small deli on the ground floor of the building opposite his office. The enticing smell of butter, and toasting bread wafts out from the open glass doors. The queue to the counter is surprisingly short and, on a regular day, this would have been more than enough incentive to enter and order his usual fried egg and cheese on white toast. But today Pat—full name Patricio N. Go—hesitates, unsure whether to spend three dollars and seventy-five cents on a breakfast sandwich. He hesitates because today he woke up a full hour early to dress and leave the house to avoid speaking to his girlfriend, who is moving out. While he’s determined to start saving more money—rent on his own could be doable if he’s careful, and he’d rather live out in Jersey than have to share an apartment with strangers—he knows that staying away from home until Gemma leaves for good means spending some time and money at a café or bar after work. In the end, the scent overpowers him. He gives in.
By Melissa Dy-Liacco5 years ago in Humans
