Wednesday, April 26, 2017

1084. Above all, manners

Entering the club, the two men hung their fedoras on the claw-footed rack.
Each of them paused to dust the road from their shoes.
They pulled guns, politely.
And they took every dollar and diamond in the place; quietly, brutally, but politely.

Sunday, April 23, 2017

1083. The growth of technology

A woman in Kansas City lovingly cultivates a garden of abandoned things.
Over there, in the corner, is a Telex machine.
It mostly receives messages from the plants in the garden.
Every other Thursday, it's wholly given over to manifestos from disgruntled Cypriot astronauts.



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Thursday, April 20, 2017

1082. The Kennedy Cha Cha

My parents hosted the best dinner parties in the sixties.
People - real grownups - would crowd the recessed living room, dancing and smoking.
We'd listen at the top of the stairs where even dropped glasses had the tenor of music.
I think that's where we first heard them float the divorce.

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Wednesday, April 19, 2017

1081. Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire

The cat lay lazily like a Roman emperor waiting on whatever passed for grapes - to him.
I sketched him quietly in charcoal.
"Brenda," I imagined him saying.
"There's a lot of pornography on the Internet."

Monday, April 17, 2017

1080. Rules for training homing pigeons

First, we must give the fowl a sense of advanced engineering, the combustion engine, and interstate commerce.
They must then be made to understand the working of wings and feathers as human hands.
The next thing is a training regiment suitable for the procurement of a valid driver's permit. 
Finally, they shall be taught the appropriate disdain for their fellow motorists.   

Sunday, April 16, 2017

1079. Of course it's a dolphin

There are rules.
We never look at the tattoo.
Never.
Yes, I can clearly see what the dolphin is doing; very detailed.

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Wednesday, April 12, 2017

1078. Nothing much to show for it

Mad scientists lead a dangerous life.
Tony was the inventor of disappearometer.
Unfortunately, he became infested with disappearion particles.
Slowly slowly everything in his life began to disappear.

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Monday, April 10, 2017

1077. Limbs

The three-legged dog bounced into the surf.
His strange gait carried him after a ball which he fetched and brought back to his master.
The three-legged man considered the ball for a moment - a red rubber thing - and then hucked it back into the ocean.
They did this for an hour or so then disappeared down the beach.



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Sunday, April 9, 2017

1076. Intent

"What is your intent in asking these questions? 
I hear them.
You are asking about my past.
What is it to you, the how and why of my lost leg and the wheel that replaced it?"

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Thursday, April 6, 2017

1075. The smell of memories

I was breathing deeply of the air in my water bottle.
This is not weird.
The hint of city-mandated chlorine cast my mind back to my youth and summer swimming at the municipal pool.
I found myself curled up on the floor, remembering a time when I nearly drowned.


Wednesday, April 5, 2017

1074. Those first few rays of dawn

"Walk until dawn," the voice said.
"Walk until dawn," the voice said, "or we'll kill you."
So he walked, blistering his feet and bending his back.
The sweet relief he thought he'd found was just a Home Depot, its digital clock blinking 2:15 a.m.

Monday, April 3, 2017

1073. Bertha and the Eleven Twelfths

Bertha was the headliner of a band, The Eleven Twelfths.
Except she wasn't.
She knew that there was no band named The Eleven Twelfths.
But, believing it was so made her happy - especially the guys and girls in the horn section.


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Saturday, April 1, 2017

1072. Tumble dry, high heat

I was trying to finish a load of whites.
The house was on fire.
A piece of the burning roof landed in the laundry room.
I still needed whites.

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