This was another modified excerpt from my
as-yet-unpublished novel My Life with
Michael: A Story of Sex and Beer for the Middle-Aged. It made a good short
story, I thought. Chock full of frustration and foiled desire. I originally
created the excerpt for a Free Flash Fiction contest on the theme of Unrequited
Love. It didn’t place, but it wasn’t quite on theme either. Is there such a
thing as half-requited love?
In any case, this longer version definitely worked better
as a story. It’s strange, though; I seem to have a penchant for main characters
who perpetually make asses of themselves. I am absolutely certain that there is
nothing in the least bit autobiographical about that.
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