”Hello, sir.”
”Yea?”
”Uhm. I’m here to see Pam.”
“My daughter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You the kid?”
“Uhm…”
“I mean the kid she’s been sneaking off with. The … No, let me think. The Williams boy, right?”
Tag: Small town America
The Marina by Bill Runyan
Old Jefferson John Williams never really done nothin’ to deserve his story told, but Doc Elroy and the Preacher prodded me to write a little piece on him. I, myself, never done nothin’ to deserve to write about nobody, but Doc helped me with spelling and smoothed out some of the grammar a bit, without changing much of the words. Anyhow, what I wrote was printed up in some out-of-town paper and I have a copy of it. I still don’t understand why I was asked to write about Jeff John, or why it was printed. But I don’t care, ‘cause what I did was right.
Saunders House by Tobias Haglund
I remember sneaking into the old Saunders house with my older sister. The trees twisted into positions which during the night cast shadows, which still haunt me in my dreams. It was silly, but great fun. We were discoverers of occult. Patrons of good, as Father Hope called us. I miss him. Father Geary is stern and never lets anything go. He forced Jane to grow up too fast. Twenty years old and already mother of two and married to Hank. Hank ‘wooden-face’ Edison.
I still visit the Saunders house. I won’t get in trouble for going into the yard any more, but I still sneak, pretend that the shadows are moving in the moonlight. When Will and Joey are older we can play there. Hopefully I won’t be too old.
Talk To Me by June Griffin
It’s Sunday afternoon. There’s lots of time before the game. My husband gets up and turns off the TV. ‘Let’s go for a ride.’
‘Yeah! It’s stuffy in here. Take me to the ocean, honey. Let’s catch some breezes.’ I will take a drive to the ocean any day to get out of our dreary rental. Its gray color, both inside and outside, makes it cheerless to say the least.
Pynchon McCool: an introduction in twelve chapters by Michael Dhillon
Chapter 1
The more cynical residents of Pynchon, PA claimed jam would go out of fashion before the town boasted an inhabitant of note, but the place was very much like thousands of small towns across America. It was a fair to middling blot on the landscape with thirty thousand residents, drive-thru burger joints, and an underachieving baseball team; and its attractions included a permanent fairground of rusting carousels, a correctional facility for troublesome women, and a jam factory.
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