Monday, August 29, 2016

982. Kachow

Kachow.
Kachow, kachow, kachow.
You ain't got nothing on me, Mirror Andy.
No, you put on a bathrobe.

Thursday, August 25, 2016

981. Pen pals

Patricia's blog was short.
Her pen pal had grown increasingly erratic in recent days and Patricia was begging for help.
She was hoping someone who lived near B3TTY63 could check in on her.
What Patricia could not know was that her pen pal had been replaced by a penguin for mysterious and sinister reasons.

Wednesday, August 24, 2016

980. The horse trailers

They were as pristine as they would ever be.
The three of them bumped along, mostly secured to a trailer towed by a mammoth truck.
Some day soon, they would ferry horses down highways and other minor country roads.
Some day soon, the smells of manure and straw and beast would descend upon them forever.

Monday, August 22, 2016

979. The cool cool

These cool cool evenings don't come often to the city.
They always remind me of our cottage by the shore.
We'd listen in the cool cool dark as the sandbars gave up their gains back to the ocean.
We don't own that cottage anymore because my mother couldn't abide the thought of my grandmother's ghost judging all the renovations.

Friday, August 19, 2016

978. The likeliest truth

"It's the likeliest truth."
That's what she said to me.

We were lobbing Molotov cocktails onto the putting green of the municipal course - cheap booze and the Mayor's annual newsletter for a wick.
Everyone was saying the Mayor was a racist.

Thursday, August 18, 2016

977. Last of the red hot dynastic struggles

My parents' was a petty civil war.
She would win this, that, or the other.
In response, he would immediately craft up some emotional counterinsurgency.
If I remember correctly, the last contested territory of their divorce was the dishes from her aunt they both hated.

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

976. Bedtime stories for grownups

We all tell our children stories.
Lately, the ones we tell our son have become, to be quite forthright, awkward.
He's become quite interested in stories of a sexual nature.
But, we owe our thirty-two-year-old son quite a lot of money, so I guess he's the boss.

Monday, August 15, 2016

975. The narwhal problem

What are we going to do about all these narwhals?
What do you mean, "cockroaches"?
You mean I've been calling them the wrong thing - for years?
Right, ok.

Sunday, August 14, 2016

974. Expatriate Version II

He walked to the bathroom on protestant knees, kneading the doughy frame his past self had begrudged his present and bequeathed his future.
He considered, as he did with regularity, his station as a man, an expatriate from the life he deserved.
Fairly, one might ask how he could claim allegiance to a homeland that was never his.
He searched for his running shoes which were quite old.

Friday, August 12, 2016

973. Virginia is for lovers

Is Virginia still for lovers?
This current postal district sure ain't.
I've tried as hard as I think I can to find some lover here.
Do you think someone will love me in Virginia?