Stories by
Bruce Harris

The vodka tasted watery. She worried.

Bruce Harris enjoys relaxing with a Marxman.

Perhaps they would have felt differently had they known the lone photo she carried around was the same one that had come with the wallet.

Bruce Harris enjoys relaxing with a Marxman.

He’d give it six days. That would provide plenty of time, should he change his mind, to remove the extra pills in Saturday’s pillbox.

Bruce Harris enjoys relaxing with a Marxman.

Her blouse was sheer and she was bra-less. We stared and she smiled. “For once,” she said, “I want people to notice me, not my wheelchair.”

Bruce Harris enjoys relaxing with a Marxman.

His calloused hand squeezed her tiny thumb. Inadequate insurance, he discovered. He couldn’t afford healthcare. He could pay for a funeral.

Bruce Harris is a doctor and a salesman, but not necessarily in that order.

He writes the perfect tweet. Nails it. It’s Hemingwayesque. The Shakespeare of all tweets! One tiny problem, though. It has 141 characters.

Bruce Harris enjoys relaxing with a Marxman.