I present to you Eight Sentence Sunday, a blog hop hosted by Weekend Writing Warriors. I've been trying my hand at free writing lately, and this is my favorite piece from this week.
The rough worn man looked glum as he wrote in his diary. She didn't know any other man who wrote in his diary in the early afternoon, nor did she know another who wrote in one in the middle of town, nor one that was a bootlegger.
Yet, she supposed, that was the reason that he stood out, and the reason that she was paid to seduce him.
Eileen know she looked a particular kind of small town beautiful as she walked over and accidentally blundered into Dakota.
"Oh I am so sorry. Clumsy me, are you alright?" She put on a southern drawl, making sure that her word choices portrayed her as a bit naive.
He looked off into the distance for a moment, before realizing the cause of his interruption was right in front of him. "Ah hello, no bother at all for a pretty little thing like yourself." Like a gentleman he took of his hat and bowed.
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