The Wrong Carriage
I'll say this up front: I'm Lyle, forty-four years old, and I drive the number 7 bus out of Brighton depot four days a week.
Dry and wry stories, from quick reads to long series. Most dry and wry stories here sit in exhibitionist & voyeur and erotic couplings. Reads run 15 to 24 minutes. Writers to know: Thread of Thorn, Meridian Harbor and Tangent of Ridge. Readers usually start with “The Confocal Compromise” and “Mulberry and Midnight”. Ranked by how many readers finish them. Some are free to read in full; the rest open with a free preview.
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I'll say this up front: I'm Lyle, forty-four years old, and I drive the number 7 bus out of Brighton depot four days a week.
I was twenty-three that summer and I had a job inspecting bridges along the coast road, which sounds more interesting than it was.
*Hey there.
*This one grew from a weird doodle I did of a house with too much yard and a neighbor who never smiled.
The trouble started with a locked door and a dead phone.
Sheryl had learned to play the theremin the same year she learned to run a bingo hall, which was to say badly at first and then with a…
I am thirty-six years old and supposedly a professional, and I sat on the bed of a portside inn in Nova Scotia with a pen in my hand…
Penelope Boone is forty-three years old and she has never loved a job this much in her whole life, and the funny part is the job is mixing…
The brasserie on Rue des Trois Rois had maybe nine tables and a ceiling fan that spun like it resented its job.
Helen Marchetti met DeShawn Cole in the fall of her twenty-sixth year, in a second-year grad studio that smelled like spray adhesive and…
The directions said take the gravel road past the second cattle grid and keep going until you think you've made a mistake, and that's…
I'm Riley, I'm thirty-four, and I've been thinking about this for longer than I want to admit out loud.
Teresa Smithson walked into the bunker at dusk the way she had walked into it for fourteen years, which was to say without thinking much…
I wrote the email the night before the funeral, which I know sounds bad, but hear me out.
I am on my back on the cold stone floor of the archive kitchen with my arm up to the elbow in the sink drain when I hear boots in the…
The tarworks smells like a bad decision that got left out in the sun, and that night it smelled worse than usual, because they'd fired up…
My Saturday had been going exactly the way my Saturdays usually went, I had coffee on the back porch at eight, read half a journal article…
Kimmy, twenty-eight, dispatcher for a construction materials supplier, sat in her car outside the trailhead and thought about cargo.
A chocolate tour in Belgium.
*This one's for anyone who's ever felt more alive under a curious gaze.
Thread of Thorn, Meridian Harbor, Tangent of Ridge, Laurel Story
Dry and wry stories, from quick reads to long series.
Some stories are free to read in full, with no account. The rest open with a free preview; members read everything.
Most dry and wry stories take 15 to 24 minutes, and the average is 19. Sort by shortest to start small, or follow a series to get each part as it lands.