Six Sentence Sunday
The ring had been cleansed in the ocean, a materialistic baptism which wiped the remaining vestiges of sentiment from my mind. I saw it now not as a reminder of The Jackass, but as the means to a fresh start. The gorgeous merman had known this, and had given me a new chance.
“Thank you,” I whispered at number 517. I touched the door, but jumped when I heard footsteps inside. I ran and only Merv Griffin knew how fast.