Red With A Little White

It was mid day at a gas station named “El Cheapo”. She was leaning with her back against the light pole, tissue in hand, red faced with tears from a mystery series that I would never hear streaming down her face. We locked eyes.

There was a Pink Cadillac parked three paces in front of her. Four seats were already taken. An elderly man sits in the captains seat staring straight ahead motionless, expressionless. To his right in the passengers seat sat whom I can only assume to be his wife. She is younger than he, but they seemed to feel the same. They were mirrored images of one another. Hiding it.

In the back sat a much younger duo. They were from as far as I could tell in their late teens to mid twenties. One male one female, or maybe they were both females. They sat motionless, expressionless, hiding it.

I imagine the wealth created an imbalance of moral beliefs causing the pink pant, black polka dotted shirt, teary eyed mess to grow distant from her hard working, over spending, unsure, “level headed elders”. Fighting a battle of work and pleasure while looking through beer goggles.

“Don’t talk about fight club.”

Maybe she was burning down her fathers empire while the other two were exceeding their fathers expectations. They checked off everything on his list. They didn’t chase after overpriced dresses, expensive food, jewelry they’ll never wear, shoes that cost the arms and legs of those that sew the stitches for their feet to feel empowered in. I imagine he never complains when his wife imitates her own daughters antics.

They have a fucking Pink Cadillac.

She’s cheating on him. Maybe. Maybe the cops were called. They were waiting for the Blues to take away a burden and force it to learn a lesson that could easily be taught at a family dinner with a sip of wine to take the edge off, but it’s his money. No it was definitely a sip of whiskey, but it’s still his money. Exchanges of words that mean “I want you out” dressed up in clothes that speak, “I only want the best for you”. “I’ll see you when you’re a better you”.

Next time she won’t wear red with a little white.

red wrapping paper.


he comes through the living room

on a winters night, with very strange intentions.

gary bought a blue dress and thought it’d be funny to wrap it in 

red paper.


he came home that night to hand her her favorite pair of 

well… underwear

only to find her hung up like an ornament by that same silly 

blue dress.


Typewriter Series #853 by Tyler Knott Gregson
*Pre-Order my book, Chasers of the Light, and donate $1 to @TWLOHA and get a free book plate signed by me :)  Click the link in my bio, or go here:*


Typewriter Series #853 by Tyler Knott Gregson

*Pre-Order my book, Chasers of the Light, and donate $1 to @TWLOHA and get a free book plate signed by me :)  Click the link in my bio, or go here:*

(via lil-movse)



It should work — by bill winchester

young and Paperback Heart by Bill Winchester (brightlightsloudnoises) on

It’s possible that every sound that
has ever been
might still be present
to the extent that in radiation we have found a
ghost of an echo that could be
the last note of the universe’s birth
held for an eternity

so every word you say will always
and every flower that wilts will have already
changed how the wind sings and every time
you tell someone “i love you,” it enters
the universe and continues forever
so gunshots and cymbals and kissing your best friend
all rebound in our lives no matter how much we try to
wash our palms of them

but what happens to the things
we don’t say
like every time he got in the car and you
didn’t beg him to come home or
when she danced in the rain and you
didn’t tell her that you had fallen in love
or when the inside of your palms had become
too heavy to hold but you couldn’t cry out for help
lest you hear your own words

what happens to the whispers we forget
to voice what happens to the lovers who wait
in the silence for things that our tongues
cannot find the strength to carry but
our hearts mean more than our
bodies can explain i mean can you still
hear the way i love you because
goddamn sound energy is just vibration
and you make me feel an explosion
in every nerve ending
but every sound we emit exists
for an eternity
so how could i tell you and let it


"I really really felt like I should’ve talked to this guy, but I didn’t and now I’m regretting it.” /// r.i.d

(via inkskinned)


Andreas Franke, The Sinking World

(via bleediingcodeine)