Here's my latest story, which published in GatherDC:

Ann stood alone on the other side of the dance floor, swaying offbeat. I approached my friend in her white gown. She looked as chic as my tailored tux and bow tie, which someone else knotted for me because I suck at “adulting”. The closer I got to her, the more I thought Ann looked inebriated and like she wasn’t there at all. I also thought we looked better than the rest of our C-squad royalty status at the Grand Finale Gala for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society Man & Woman of the Year campaign. We were celebrating a fundraising campaign that raised $2.4 million to research new cancer treatments.

“Hey!” I said. Ann’s eyes remained cold and unresponsive, so I put my hand on her bare shoulder. “I haven’t seen you for hours,” I said, fishing for a response.

Ann noticed me then. “Behhhhhn!” I’d spent enough time around adults who forgot college ended fifteen years before to know. If a correlation existed between the number of seconds to pronounce a single vowel and the level of intoxication, then Ann was Sweet Dee. They were both Philly’s finest.

Ann’s mouth turned a 180. “L. is dead.” Keep reading If Nobody Remembers Us...