Pulse

Short Fiction

I can see more clearly now the revolving door of innocence.

The minute the Ferris Wheel went up the excitement rippled through the neighborhood.

St. Michael’s Fair weekend.

The old neighborhood ladies like Mrs. Blanchard, who taught piano, asking rhetorically  “Aren’t you kids excited?”

Or Mrs. Dumont, with the schnauzer: “Isn’t this exciting?”

And when I wa…