Sunday, October 28, 2007

Randall dies (296)

When he got to the motel, he looked for room number 73. He had been meeting his mistress here for weeks, ever since he’d fallen out of love with his ugly wife.

His mistress wasn’t ugly at all. She was 20 years older than him, and even though she was a short woman, her legs seemed to go on forever. He’d met her at an art show, and he’d immediately been attracted to her. She was just the type of womn he would have tried to be with if he hadn’t married his attempted murdering, butter faced wife.

She waited on the bed for him, dressed in nothing but high heels and an evil smile.

“We can’t do this anymore.’ He said, trying not to look at her.

“Why not?” she asked. “Is it your wife?’

“It’s everything.” He said, then turned to leave.

She called after him, but he got into his car and left. He didn’t go home, though.

He kept driving until he was in a different town. One where he could date the type of girl he loved; A town where he could be away from ugly wives and mistresses.

The next day at around 3, he stopped a diner and ordered a diet coke with no ice.

This was the last time he’d be seen for a while.


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