The night started out with 2 racists in the Middle East Nightclub & Bar on the South side of Cambridge. Each man on the wrong side of a real bore of an argument. The spit that flew off their tongues stained the fabric of this particular dimension. The one we selfishly call ours.
“The moon loves you, Dad,” said Jeep, one of my grandsons who lived in Maine and who was practically born in the seat of an old ’56 Jeep relegated to the farm. You can imagine very easily that is how Jasper got his nickname. The Jeep was an old army surplus vehicle left over from the Korean War that I was in during all of 1951. From the first, Jeep was a mover, hardly slowing down, except for cows, goats, sheep, hens and ducks, sometimes a pig as big as a mountain, at least big as your house. He roamed the whole farm and knew all its secrets, including the secret visitors that came onto the farm in the night time when most animals and people were sound asleep.
– I’m really sorry, said the paramedic.
– But there’s no blood, I said.
– No. No blood, said the paramedic. You might need to talk to the police.
Eleanor’s siren hair streamed like moon rivers on her shoulders, livened by the bluish hue emanating from the television. Simon lay on the couch, stretching his nape just enough to kiss the glass on his chest. The lime-green light on the baby monitor remained still. And I, as usual, didn’t pay attention to the movie.
Mr. Johnson watched as the class shuffled in lethargically, their enthusiasm tempered by the warm spring weather and impending commencement ceremonies.
Mother is sitting on her sofa peeling a satsuma or clementine, or some other small, orange citrus fruit. She has removed the skin in small, finger nail-sized pieces, and is now carefully removing quivering strands of pith, and placing them with precision next to the teetering pile of skin on the arm of the sofa. I will be clearing them off later.
From a prompt by Sari K Continue reading “Loose Lips by Steve Sibra”
Sharon Frame Gay has sent in a couple of suggestions for Reruns. The first is by Leila and this is what she said:
Continue reading “Literally Re-runs – Blessed are the Little Things by Leila Allison”
Unknown assailant shoots owner inside Bronx Bodega
Girl killed by alligator in Florida
Gaga reigns supreme on Golden Globes Red Carpet
Man releases giant rat inside a NJ McDonald’s
Winter storm warning for most of Northeast. 2 feet of snow predicted for NYC.
…I always wanted to have a shot at some of that inner dialogue speaking to me.
You know the shit that I’m talking about; the ‘Sex In The City’ voice, ‘True Romance’ and me hearing Alabama, or even I suppose, John-Boy from The ‘Waltons’. Any of them would have done and I wanted it to be from me for me.
It nearly happened. Once.
literally stories 