Waist Pocketbook Novels & Stories

It was small. She registered that first — the specific dimensions of it, smaller than a standard notebook, the kind that fit in a jacket pocket, dark green cover with a worn quality that was not aesthetic but actual, the wear of something that had been handled regularly over a period of time. She registered the weight of it, which was the dense weight of pages that had been written on rather than the airy weight of pages that hadn't. She registered the particular quality of its closure, the elastic band around it in the way of certain notebooks, the elastic gone slightly loose with age. She held it.

"You smell absolutely awful." She offered a small, sad smile before closing the door, leaving me alone with the sound of the sea. I walked over to the wardrobe, finding it stacked full of various clothes and high-quality leathers—obviously designed for flying. I reached for the hem of my trousers, my fingers fumbling with the fastenings as I tried to strip out of the grime of the last few days. As I pulled them down, I felt something small and stiff in the back pocket. My heart skipped a beat as I reached in and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.

"It is a statement of fact." She closes her notebook. She slides it into the canvas bag that hangs from the back of her chair, the faded blue one with the straps worn pale at the shoulders, and she stands, and the folded paper stays under her hand until the last possible moment, and then it disappears into the pocket of her skirt in a motion so smooth I almost miss it.

I wore a simple black off-shoulder and ragged white pants, I paired it with a black topsider for women. I just let my hair hang down to my ass. I put a little orange marmalade lip tint and Johnson powder. I didn't bring a bag with me, everything is inside my pocket, my wallet fits in my pocket. My cellphone is in my ass pocket too, I'll just hold it when we take a taxi so it won't be crushed.

Bending over her purse to get an emergency pen, her fingers brushed against the soft leather of her wallet. It was an old wallet, one she had had since her first year of college. The leather was wrinkled and worn, the edges frayed. She hadn't even thought about what was inside it in years because it was simply easy to have money and cards. But now, without a reason she could name, she opened it.

He then stored the mokeskin pouch in an inside pocket of his robes. ------------- a/n: sorry for dropping this set new I was choked up with many things please my followers please bear with me.