mattanvsworld

The parking garage is quiet, and I am laying my head on the soft cement floor. The paint to my left has been worn and scraped off. It is old, but dignified
The place is dark
empty
vast
incomprehensible
and so many other words that I can no longer articulate. My tongue lays three feet away, in a red puddle that contrasts the yellow cement.

Vixen

Punchy.
This sounds like the begining of a good mob story, or a tragedy...it works as vinette, despite the stomache churned gore...If you were to continue this, how would it go?

mattanvsworld

I probobly won't be continuing it. I write a lot of introductions and then just leave them there. It adds variation (I hate writing about the same story over and over)