Sometimes, when I have trouble falling asleep, my mind will work its way toward thinking in anagrams. (I used to count sheep, but stopped after PETA sent me a cease-and-desist letter.) Recently I noticed something:
If you rearrange the letters in EDITING STORY, you get DESTROYING IT. That's deep.
55 Fiction Friday couldn't even tell time with a digital watch.
The drop in Terrell’s quality of life was glaring. Single again, he indulged in the standard bachelor bacchanalia. Between nightlife expenses and alimony payments, he couldn’t even afford a maid.
His only civilized moments came in the afternoon, curled on a crumpled sofa, catching up on his reading over hot tea in dirty shot glasses.