by J’nell Ciesielski
“Bloody lipstick.” Kathleen Whitford yanked a handkerchief from her handbag and rubbed off the uneven line of Sequin Red curving over her lip. Angling her gold compact mirror to the streetlight, she swiped the red tube over her mouth again. “Can’t meet the Nazis with smeared lips.”
NOW IT IS YOUR TURN!
GRAB THE BOOK YOU ARE CURRENTLY READING, OPEN TO CHAPTER ONE, AND POST THE FIRST SENTENCE (OR SECOND SENTENCE) IN THE COMMENTS BELOW.
THEN HEAD ON OVER TO HOARDING BOOKS TO SEE ALL OF THE FLF PAGES THIS WEEK (JUST CLICK ON THE FLF BUTTON BELOW).