I have another short story up over at Terror House magazine. It in an autumn piece, my favorite time of the year.
“What shall we have?” Tommy said. He would be happy with a red or a white, perhaps even something sparkling. Probably more a red than a white; it was a red day. The streets were cold and grim. December had truly settled in with its cloak of darkness and dank humidity. The vinoteca was warm and friendly; there were raised voices and calls for different orders. The wood panelling reflected dimly in the yellow light of the late lunch hour. Yes, it was a day for red, perhaps one of the local drops; something from the Veneto.