Jim Pavlidis
Intractable wars. Melting glaciers. Widening inequality. And then there were her ailing parents and anxious son.
But for god’s sake,she thought,isn’t there a single bastard pen in this house that works?
Four pens,fished from a drawer,had failed already. A fifth scratched holes in her notepad. The sixth teased with a hopeful squirt before it,too,clammed up.
With a wild yelp,she snapped it in half.
That got the ink flowing.
Her tears,too,when she saw the blossoms of blue on her brand-new shirt.
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