So, at a Christmas party in Russia, Death comes up and asks for a cigarette….

 

In the mirror, I attach the fake ears and tug the hat onto my head. “It’s the wealthiest preschool in St. Peters,” K had said, “they’ll pay you a boat load to just stand around as an elf for their Christmas party.” I sigh now, as I did then, resigned. I wash my hands and […]

via DEATH at a Preschool Christmas Party — Flash 365

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