26 sentences, 1 of each letter of the alphabet.
My peers groined, but I immediately dove in.
I always find it easier to start writing when I have a prompt.
So this is what I came up with in class.
It's not the best, but I may revise it some day.
Enjoy.
A while ago, I lived in Nantucket.
Before I stopped lying, that is.
Carrie was the only one I hurt with my lies.
Damsels always seem to be that type.
Eventually she left me, but I don't care to tell you that story.
Fudge, now there's a topic that deserves discussion.
Godiva, best chocolate I've ever had.
Huge piles of empty boxes litter my studio apartment for months after I moved to New York.
Imagine me with a huge belly hanging over my belt with a slim body to lug it around.
Jim was the one with that burden, but it fit him.
"Keep ordering those chocolates, and I'll eat them all from you," he threatened.
Love: making men gain weight for the ones they care about.
Men in NYC always seem to pay me close attention me when I walk the streets.
Nantucket folk only stared and glared at me.
Once a pair of gray eyes batted at me, but they left long before I did.
Permitted by chance, I found them again.
Question: How do you get out of paying for your ex-wife's therapy bill?
Reply: Ask Jim McGreevey.
Secretly, I was glad Carrie still called me, even if only for money.
The conversations I had with her were mentally stimulating.
Unfortunately, I needed more than that stimulated.
Vivid description of how Jim fulfills that are details I'll also spare you.
What I will reveal is this: I'm happy.
Xanax couldn't make me happier.
Yesterday, someone told me Carrie overdosed.
Zoloft, contrary to popular belief, does make some people sad.
Word.
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