It is fireworks night, and my throat is sore from faking orgasms down a phone line all afternoon. My back aches and I am cold. The air smells of caramel and gunpowder. Me and Amber are on the roof, watching the explosives climb and burst. The city is a universe. Someone, somewhere is being burned alive.
My short story “Remember, Remember” appears online in 3:AM Magazine. It is about a phone sex worker who receives a call that was not intended for her.