The bourbon Miguel slid across the scarred bar top wasn't just any fucking bourbon—it was a double pour of Elijah Craig that caught the Christmas lights like liquid amber fire, the kind of burn that started in your chest and spread to places you forgot existed.
You had me laughing out loud there a couple of times. And smirking at other points. Good flow even with the change of location.
Let them lead you.
Brilliant!!!
Moving right along. Up to feeling safe enough to problem solve as a group without defensiveness.
I'm guessing that Sartre was an introvert.
I love your reworking of Sartre!
And - your tales of the adventures of your little family of outsiders remind me of the fiction of Charles de Lint, except his have elves as well 😎
Really ?
Check him out. It's been a few decades since I was reading him but I think it is his "Newford" stories I'm thinking of.
I love escape rooms.
Now, if I could only figure out the codes for the huge one that I'm living in.
Brandon, you have your trees as your escape code.
I actually wouldn't mind too much living in a treehouse in the middle of nowhere, but it would have to be installed with Wi-Fi for my writing. lol
That’s an easy fix, Brandon.
Sounds like you're offering to install it. I'll have to build the house first, though. lol