Saturday, August 12, 2017

1133. Hopes

"Hopefully there's no murder," I thought as I made my way to the dining car.
I poured a cup of coffee from the dispenser as I thought, "Hopefully there's no murder."
But the dining car was empty and there was no murder or murderer.
This was just one of those regular trains -- with a dining car.

Thursday, August 10, 2017

1132. A way about her

She had a way about her when she was imagining things, which she was doing right now.
Her car was nearly ready; just the wiper blades to install.
She drove the Prius off the lot, looking left toward downtown and then right toward the shimmering vortex.
She took the right turn into the portal and that was the start of everything.

Wednesday, August 9, 2017

1131. The Eulogist

The chair in the witness stand had been replaced by a wooden perch.
On the perch sat Grandfather's parrot, Evelyn Waugh.
Evelyn Waugh squawked out the six stories Grandfather had drilled into him - including the one pertinent to this case.
"Those stories are bee ess and the bird knows it," Uncle Harold interrupted from the back of the courtroom.  

Tuesday, August 8, 2017

1130. Bindles

"Actually, I think you mean 'bindle', you guys," he shouted, leaning over the overpass.
The two hobos looked up at him from beside their fire.
He smiled down at them beatifically.
One of the hobos threw a well-aimed can that plunked him in his well-heeled face.

Sunday, August 6, 2017

1129. Simon Says for the decidedly resistant

Simon says, look at anything other than me.
Simon says, kick listlessly at that clod of dirt with your right foot.
Simon says, roll your eyes and wonder how long this will all take.
Tell me how this is all going.

Thursday, August 3, 2017

1128. Apple juice

Today, I let the juice from a green apple run down my thumb and around my wrist.
I looked at the sticky-sweet trail for what had to be forever.
The fruit's white flesh turned brown and became disgusting to me, I left it so long.
I threw the apple in the trash bin and washed my hands.

Wednesday, August 2, 2017

1127. Padre down the line

I think he preferred we not call him "vicar" -- ours not being a Church of England.
The vicar was perched on a motorcycle.
He was wearing goggles that were steampunk in their fashion.
Giving us a nod, the vicar kicked his bike to a sputtering start and hit off down the road toward adventure.

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

1126. Cowgirls Rule

“Cowgirls Rule,” the painted signed declared in capable lettering.
So far as she could tell however, this piece of road was home to neither girls nor cows — just the sign.
Being time for a stretch anyway, she climbed out of the car to check.
Satisfied at her assessment of the barren road, she tossed her coffee cup in the ditch and got back behind the wheel.

Monday, July 31, 2017

1125. Quantum mechanics

The old man smoked a dirty cigarette, or maybe a small cigar.
I paid so little attention to him as he gathered sticks in the park that his movements appeared conspicuously random, an electron jumping its orbitals.
His appearance at our table, asking for a couple of bucks, surprised me; no change on me, pal.
I thought about him all the way home from the restaurant then never again.

Saturday, July 29, 2017

1124. Brake Light Mafia

Simon pulled apart the rear light on his bike only to find the bulb had been stolen.
Who steals a light bulb from a bike light?
Twelve hundred miles away, a flunky from the Brake Light Mafia screwed it into place, joining other bulbs beyond count.
The lights pointed skyward, waiting for nightfall, waiting to beam out a message.