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My latest for the Micro Bookends competition wherein they provide the first (JAZZ) and last (AGE) words, respectively, and you fill in the middle with no more than 110 words. My entry based on Jimmy Baikovicius’ photo:

Jazz infiltrated the background of my experience.

“Cheek to Cheek,” was on the nose, but that’s what happened when I used the alley near the club as a staging ground for my temptation.

They — they being the press, the police and the cockroaches of the city — called me Father Death.

So named for the silver-coated cross I left on my victim’s cheek. I wasn’t religious or anything — they didn’t know that, hence the name — but I liked the way it looked.

I placed it on the cheek of Cathy here.

“Heaven, I’m in Heaven,” I whispered.

Serial killers used to mean something in this country. I’m resurrecting a dead age.

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