Underneath the Carpet
Flash Fiction
Somewhere, underneath the carpet they were gonna rip up to finish the hardwood floors, there was love.
Not lick ice cream off each other’s fingers love, a more pulsing, frantic symbiosis.
One was the threads of a Peterbilt lugnut shearing off at seventy miles per hour on a downhill interstate, the other was the wheel that hugged the asphalt, and they took…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Jimmy Doom's Roulette Weal to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.