Telling it True

His name was Billy O’Rourke. Now that’s a great name, I thought. A pub-poet name and I rather hoped he smoked a pipe, played the fiddle and drank whiskey. At the point of our meeting, I couldn’t tell. I was having my eyelashes tinted when he walked into the small salon I frequent and my eyes were firmly shut. My mouth too, for I had been told by my knowledgable hair stylist, Raelene, it is much harder to keep one’s eyes closed when one’s mouth is open. Perhaps she was after some quiet time. Who can tell? Anyway, Billy O’Rourke arrived with his wife. ThatRead More →