Nothing is out of place in her purse. Pens and pencils in a black mesh zip case, money in a green zip case, makeup (Chanel lipstick and Kiehl lip balm) in a red zip case, credit cards in a blue zip case. The cell phone pocket holds her leather-bound appointment calendar (this year's is pink, which displeases her, but Neiman's likes to follow trends). Bandaids, antiseptic wipes, and a linen handkerchief reside in the purse's inside zipper compartment.

Most importantly, the newest issue of Ultimate X-Men is ready at hand for when she finally has a few minutes to herself.

She chews her thumb absently as she digs into his pocket.

Leather. Still warm. Cash, yes. Credit cards, shiny and too traceable, no. Okay, maybe the black one - she's never seen one like that before. She pauses at the driver's license - out of town, with an undeniably suburban address. His tiny photo of the family is very picket fence.

A note telling him to call Lola soon, faded and creased. Another has Susie's number. She frowns and kicks him with her toe.

A key! She pockets it with delight. It might fit the case he dropped when her bullets hit.

Same Purse, 12 Years Ago

The bag left careless and forlorn under the table holds evidence of a careless life. The bag, drizzled with strewn with drops of the world's finest rotgut vodka, is slightly sticky; a questing hand would need to worm its way through the tight-packed contents. Marlboro Lights, lighters -- two, three and one out. Battered calendar, marked with "B. for J 8 p.m." and "OE trans DUE" and spilling ATM slips fights for space with a journal: coffee-colored, coffee-stained.

Here's an almost empty tube of Chanel Vamp, carefully hoarded. A band flyer with scrawled directions to Omaha on the back. And a cellophane with a little pot and a couple of papers, tucked discreetly into the zip pocket with a trial-sized bottle of Scope and a crumpled and elderly condom.

Hmmmmm. Did I screw up? I mean, does actually having a scene using said objects violate the spirit of the drabble? Tep? Could you clarify?

(Sorry; I was at dinner and just now read this.)

Peoples! You may write whatever you wish -- you should know that by now! Lists are fine, scenes and dialogue are LOVELY, a descriptive passage is scrumptious -- anything!

Also, you should also know by now that drabbles over the 100-word limit are no big dealio. If your piece wants to be longer, let it be longer.

It's funny isn't it? The one I slave over, people are "Eh." But something I toss up out of boredom or delirum and people just don't get enough

Yeah, every time I post one and sit back and wait for the applause it gets ignored, and every time I think one is kinda weak, I get praised. Go figure. I'd say I'm no judge of my own writing, except that I'm getting better at predicting how my writers group and critique partners will react.

Items found with the accused:

Single-edged waraxe, non-Legion issue, well kept. Dagger, Legion issue, well kept. Whetstone, Legion issue, extremely worn. Chain shirt, Legion issue, damaged, bloodstained. 5th Legion banner, badly damaged. Squadleader's baton, 3rd year Legion issue, damaged, bloodstained. Amulet of Kulaynas Warfather, slightly worn. Waterskin, Legion issue, partially full. 5th Legion paymaster's chest, broken lock. Nine hundred ninety three silver marks.

For the curious, yes this is the fella with the spear from the earlier one, several years prior.

the contents of the hip pockets of one Richard Shane, hero of my OT

Recipe torn out of Gourmet magazine, with handwritten modifications.

Shopping list: dog biscuits, cilantro, olive oil, coffee filters, fresh chicken breasts, Tabasco (green and red), gun oil.

Keyring with piece of plastic advertising Beaudreau's Coffee & Car Parts in Shreveport, with keys for a Mustang.

Four unidentifed keys on a key ring attached to a spent 7.62mm NATO sniper rifle round casing.

What’s In A Detective’s Purse

I’m not a real detective yet, so you’ll just know what’s in my purse.Kay Howard forgive me, one lipstick, fifties fuck-me red.(Which, if I have any sense I’ll leave home, it’s fricking hot out there, don’t want it to melt all over the secret microfilm...Keyser Sose’s business card, whatever). Quarters. A screw. The Perv’s eyes actually twinkle as he reads this, can you believe that? “What’s his name?” he asks, “If it’s a guy.”

“It’s not a guy,” I say, still trying to be patient. God knows why. Flyer about the Soltstice thing I missed. Feel bad about that, it was kind of a work thing. Fucking Dawes...taking over my life already.

“You know that’s better, right?” he continues, impervious to my lack of attention. You’d never know he’d been the go-to guy for John Does left to the elements.

“What’s better?”

”You screwing not-a-guy. Guys are disgusting. Who should know better? Would your girlfriend object to, uh, art photography?”

I reach in my purse, pull out the offending metal object. “This. It’s from my chair somewhere. Maybe if you’re good, you’ll get to give it Phillips head.”

He laughs. “I appreciate your wanting to fit in away from the Granola Tribe, but that was just sad, not dirty. And you’ll want a socket wrench for that...it’s one of those things from your footpedal.”

”Gee, thanks, Brian. Good catch.” My poor anemic wallet.(Had I misjudged him?)

“That’s okay...I always use the right tool.”(Not quite.)

Four unidentifed keys on a key ring attached to a spent 7.62mm NATO sniper rifle round casing.

And there's Richard, his entire history and where he is, right there. Nice. Gotcher "show" moment, right there.

You’d never know he’d been the go-to guy for John Does left to the elements.

And there's another one, except can I suggest change, for asthaetic purposes only? I read it as "does" the verb for a moment; maybe "for every John Doe left to the elements"?

Thank god for the Internet. I suddenly need to know what kind of ammunition would be used in a sniper rife--and what rifle snipers prefer--and there it is.