Upon waking, Josie never needed reminding of who she was or where she stood in the great grey margin of good versus evil. Today was different, however. Today she woke from a dream about paraffin roses to find Samuel lying next to her, smiling with his big, brown eyes.
Brown eyes dont get enough credit, she thought. We always hear songs about eyes blue like the sea, green like the hills, and on and on, but never brown. She supposed it was due to the sparseness of pleasing similes for the color brown. His eyes were brown, brown like the deepest pile of shit. That would sell no records.