Find your next favorite read
4 stories found
Your thumb was hooked under the strap, the weight of the brass pulling your shoulders forward, and I felt the vibration of that low C in the hollow of my own throat.
The way you handled that upright bass—all thick wood and vibrating tension—should have been a federal travel warning for anyone with a pulse.
His thumb was hooked in the waistband of her trousers, pulling the fabric taut against the swell of her hip like a resistance band.
The air was the texture of a heavy cream reduction, thick enough to coat the back of a spoon and tasting of bourbon and brass.