I have a couple of opening line for stories/shorts (they could also be considered prompts, but there's not much to them) if anybody wants to use them or suggest things. I don't see myself ever using them, though, so have at it.
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He had a voice like good Southern bourbon, eyes like well-aged scotch, and words that poured from his mouth like fine rye; there wasn’t a single part of that boy that didn’t taste like whiskey, and all the girls knew it.
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During the spring, in the South, the air smells like sweet honeysuckle and wet concrete– if there’s a smell more synonymous with death, I certainly haven’t encountered it.