"You heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the Lord—" she takes the cigarette from her mouth, eyes bright and hand trembling, in the grip of the feverish obstacle-discounting excitement you learned the hard way to walk away from. "What if I told you that chord is real, and we're going to steal it?"
What is a writer?
A miserable little pile of words!
Call me MP or Miz
Fiction attempted, with various levels of success.
Yes, I do need help, thank you for noticing.
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