Novelas y relatos de Streetcar Named Desire

Desiree answered. "I apologize?" I looked sheepish. "Here is her number on the off-chance you are ever bored," Desiree handed me a torn piece of paper. "You are a totally contemptible pig." "I think you are a Saint for putting up with me," I smiled. "By all means, please jump out of the car while we are in motion then run through traffic, preferably in front of buses and dump trucks," Desiree requested. "Is this your way of suggesting I meet some nice nurses at the closest hospital," I reposed.

Adele. I stepped out the back door of the diner with a heavy trash bag in my hands, the smell of old grease and rain hitting me at once. Chicago nights were cold this time of year, and my thin jacket did nothing to keep the chill off my skin. My feet hurt from a double shift. All I wanted was to dump this bag, clock out, and crawl into my tiny apartment bed. Alone, like always. The alley was dark except for one flickering bulb above the dumpster. I swung the bag toward the bin when a shadow moved near the wall.

I got into the driver's seat and he got in the passenger's seat. I drove his car out of his mansion and we headed towards his company. I was so hungry and I couldn't waste my time buying myself a meal after reaching my office. The only way was to stop by at McDonald's which was on our way to our company; it was also convenient that way. "Hmm…Mr. Jedrick?" I called him with vacillation. "Yes, Mr. Sandros." He replied coolly.

She liked being independent and did not want to act like a gold digger like she had once been called,though she knew James wouldn't mind her asking him for money. She decided to trek down the road to register two Sim cards before heading home to her mother's house when she noticed a young woman by the roadside with tattered clothes and in tears. Immediately, she felt drawn to her, so she decided to move closer towards her and asked her what was wrong. She looked too young and beautiful to be in that state. Somehow, in some way, she reminded her of her younger self.

As the door closed, I finally got up, slowly walked to the window, and peeked outside. I saw him leave through the big gate while he hung his polo over his shoulder. I swallowed hard as I watched his wide shoulders and strong build. He lit a cigarette and took a few puffs before tossing it and hailing a taxi. I had no appetite to return to bed. I just sat there staring at the ceiling. What's happening, Lara? Why are you letting a stranger like him, who's arrogant, a playboy, a womanizer, and a bad boy, enter your life? I asked myself.

"You'll understand once we arrive. It's only a five-minute drive away." Fuck what ever this is, I sure as hell don't like it, if she is so on display. She steps out once more, to put her other clothes in my boot. Watching her step out, I can see her sexy ass is barely covered. This might be one of the hottest things I've ever seen, which is making me feel more and more uncomfortable. "Do you owe someone money? I can help you, you know that, right?" Rolling her eyes she simply tells me where to drive to. We are met with a huge crowd of people, mainly males but also a few females all only wearing little skimpy clothing and loud music. What the fuck is this?

Thirty minutes later, I slung my bag across my shoulder and straightened the best dress I had in my wardrobe, technically the dress isn’t mine because it belonged to my late mom but you get it… No breakfast for me either because…I ain't got the time to spare. That was a lie. I am dead-ass poor. Waving down a taxi after I exited my sleazy apartment building, crawling with mother-fuckers and all sorts of criminals, I rummaged through my purse for the last twenty bucks I eyed last night. I found it. “Thank you! You can keep the change.” I winked at the sweet cab driver as he peeled to a stop in front of a rundown office building. Nervously, I bit my lips as I checked the address mailed to me fo

POV: Claire Desmond The engine hummed to life—a modest, honest sound. Gareth spun the wheel with one hand, steering the small white car out of the line of luxury titans, gliding through the glittering streets of Manhattan. I stared out the window at the passing city. The hotel, with its towering facade and its hollow promises, grew smaller and smaller until it was swallowed by the neon skyline. The silence in the car was companionable. A soft jazz instrumental played from the speakers—the same track we’d listened to on the way to the park.

Then headlights swept the wet street and a black car pulled to the curb and a driver in a dark coat stepped out and said my name like a question. "Ms. Serena?" Not Mrs. Voss. Not ma'am. Just my name — the first half of it, the only half that had ever truly belonged to me. I got in. The drive took twenty-three minutes. I watched Detroit move past the window the way you watch a city when you are no longer certain you belong to it — the lit windows of the Vernors plant on the east side, the dark ribbon of the river glimpsed between buildings, the long flat stretches of street where the lights had been out for years and nobody had replaced them. This city had always felt to me like a place that