This is a series of stories about life, love, loss and loneliness of both the welcome and unwelcome varieties.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Her smile told him all he needed to know; she was a rose stuck in the shadow of her louder, more confident cacti companion, just ripe and waiting for someone like him to shine a bright light on her and make her flourish.
“I do love Tom Petty”, she replied, a blush forming under her bronzed cheeks. “Did”, her friend interjected”, “did love him, Tom died, you know”.
“Well, ol’ Jimbo’s still alive and kicking”, he stood, extending his hand to the rose. “And what’s your name, pretty lady?”.
“Constance”, she responded, the blush reaching full bloom.
“Constance, Constance, constant beauty, rose amidst the desert’s thorns”, Jimbo said, gripping her hand a little too firmly.
