tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-290705202011-08-23T07:06:26.029-04:00The Difference Between Sex And LoveWriting is the flip side of sex - it's only good when it's over.
~Hunter S. Thompson
I've never considered myself a writer of creative fiction, but if I had, then these stories are the result; stories you won't find anywhere else. ~Peter W. KnoxPeter Knoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01686775744087298331noreply@blogger.comBlogger61100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29070520.post-27338779101267897092007-10-12T16:17:00.001-04:002007-10-12T16:17:45.161-04:00My Official WebsiteHead to http://www.peterwknox.com because I paid good money for it, and if you don't go, my $9 bucks will go to waste instead of getting me wasted.Peter Knoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01686775744087298331noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29070520.post-1149130792195106002006-05-31T22:54:00.000-04:002006-06-01T14:11:58.276-04:00You Can't Leave Freedom<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> The twenty-four inch flat screen monitor affixed to the blank wall facing the bed blips on. A digital pre-recording of a female’s voice begins its regular task: “Good morning Mr. Winston. Today is Tuesday, September 17th, 2013. The time is six fifteen a.m. The forecast for today will be mildly cloudy with an average temperature of sixty-three degrees FahrenheitPeter Knoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01686775744087298331noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29070520.post-1149127045606018992006-05-31T21:53:00.000-04:002006-05-31T21:57:25.630-04:00Verbal Vulnerability“HOW DO YOU know you love me?” I rolled over on my side to face her, adjusting the sweaty mass between my legs for comfort. Searching her expression for clues and finding none, I let out a sigh. “What do you mean?” “I mean exactly that.” “What? You know I love you.” “I know you love me only because you tell me so.” “And that isn’tPeter Knoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01686775744087298331noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29070520.post-1149112895695522952006-05-31T17:55:00.000-04:002006-05-31T22:16:36.190-04:00Mile High Red EyeIF MIKE BELIEVED in fate he would’ve thanked it for the beautiful woman seated next to him. Not only had she noticed him noticing her at the airport bar, but the seatbelt sign was illuminated and there was no chance she was leaving for anywhere at thirty thousand feet. “First Class Flight Non-Stop from Miami to New York,” the pilot interrupted the casual yet increasingly intense Peter Knoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01686775744087298331noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29070520.post-1149112484545647422006-05-31T17:51:00.000-04:002006-05-31T22:27:09.396-04:00Heist<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--> The Teller THE ANXIETY making her rattle the coffee cup wasn’t due to the caffeine. In fact, the coffee was weak. Normally she didn’t even need coffee to make it to her lunch break, but the fourth man in line was making her nervous. They had to expect an extra influx of people before lunch – especially on Fridays. Everyone was eager to cash their Peter Knoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01686775744087298331noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29070520.post-1149111563404810882006-05-31T17:33:00.000-04:002006-05-31T22:42:18.906-04:00One In SixIF ATTACKED, ESCAPE. If trapped, stay alive. If assaulted, memorize details. Three sentences I’ve memorized and recited to several hundred-college students at mandatory attendance talks. Greeks, sport teams, freshmen, guys and girls. I’ve stood on stage and seen every one of apathetic faces on my peers. Guys trying to make it into a joke to demonstrate value to their friends. Girls stifling Peter Knoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01686775744087298331noreply@blogger.com0