by Phillip Sterling
Although I was up early, the yellow horse was already in the kitchen, fixing her own breakfast. She insisted: multi-grain toast, water. Put honey crisps on the list, she said. I brewed a pot of coffee, fried a rasher of bacon, a pasture of hash browns. No, thank you, said the yellow horse. She'd grown since the day before. I barely had room to pull out the spatula drawer, though it might have been the new island too, the copper sink and blue Corian she'd wanted. She lifted car keys from the top of the fridge with her lips. I'm curious, I said. Don't wait up, she mumbled. When she was gone, I turned on the TV and thought, maybe later, I'd muck out the stall.
Phillip Sterling has been known to import bread from Colorado.
Although I was up early, the yellow horse was already in the kitchen, fixing her own breakfast. She insisted: multi-grain toast, water. Put honey crisps on the list, she said. I brewed a pot of coffee, fried a rasher of bacon, a pasture of hash browns. No, thank you, said the yellow horse. She'd grown since the day before. I barely had room to pull out the spatula drawer, though it might have been the new island too, the copper sink and blue Corian she'd wanted. She lifted car keys from the top of the fridge with her lips. I'm curious, I said. Don't wait up, she mumbled. When she was gone, I turned on the TV and thought, maybe later, I'd muck out the stall.
Phillip Sterling has been known to import bread from Colorado.
