Lucas stopped because of the compliment. It came from a PR girl, who was canvassing Oxford Street’s dense lunchtime crowd.
“Yes,” she muttered, catching his eye. “Definitely.”
Tag: literally stories
Little Miss Twinkle Toes by James Hanna
Hi. My name is Gertie McDowell. I was born in Turkey Roost, Kentucky, which ain’t much to brag about. The town, if you want to call it that, has half a dozen streets, a whole bunch of bars, and a McDonald’s whose arches are always powdered with coal dust. Just a typical strip-mining town is all. On Saturday night, a girl can’t do much except stroll up and down the main drag. Or maybe gather a few girlfriends for a slumber party and watch movies on the Turner channel. I watch a lot of movies, and I like the old musicals best. My favorite is West Side Story—Natalie Wood sure could sing. But I’m kinda getting off the subject.
Town by Lauren Bilsborough
“Just follow me,” George said, “and you’ll know everything about Glastonbury, because I know everything about it. They all call me the king, everyone does, even mum.”
Tin Folk by Lauren McGarrity
“And then she invited him over for lunch! Her man’s not dead a year and she’s already at that bowls club on the prowl.” The old woman’s bonnet bounced up and down as she spoke. The rain continued to pound the pavement as she and her friend passed. Sam listened to her story, smiling a little. If they hadn’t been walking right in front of him he might have thought that they were speaking to each other from across the road, their voices were that loud. He wondered if they realised how loud they were, if they were both hard of hearing or just assumed the other was because of their age.
Literally Reruns – The Manufacturing of Sorrow by Bob Thurber
Ever reliable, even at great personal cost! Leila Allison has offered up another suggested Rerun which apparently focuses her attention on that which she would rather ignore, and this is what she said:
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – The Manufacturing of Sorrow by Bob Thurber”
Week 217 – Stories, Requests And A Saturday Special
Here we are at Week 217 and we have a wee treat.
Onto the stories first and then I’ll explain.
Continue reading “Week 217 – Stories, Requests And A Saturday Special”
The Female Bukowski? by Kathryne Cherie
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.
End Home by David Henson
My next case is a Walter Simms. Eighty-three. Wife deceased. Estranged from his children. No siblings. A truck from the Department of Water is pulling away as I arrive at his home. I wouldn’t have their job no matter how much it pays.
A Conversation with Jeep Who Said the Moon Loved His Father (RIP Timothy) by Tom Sheehan
“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.
One Punch by Andrew Larter
– 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.
literally stories 