To the Fine Patrons and Owners of Lucky’s Freeway Diner

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fountain-pen-1851096_640To the fine patrons and owners of Lucky’s Freeway Diner, creators of unique spins on diner classics like the “Mama’s Chicken Fried Steak” and “Stack-o-Cakes”, I am sorry.

From the moment I entered the establishment and loudly declared the smell of kitchen to be “totally fudgin’ amazeballs” I set a bad example of what a good patron sounds like.  To make matters worse, wearing my torn jeans and blood stained shirt left my visual aesthetic to be desired.

Let me tell you of the moments leading to my appearance in the entryway of the cozy little diner, as I feel some explanation will help explain my behavior.

You see, I’m not usually one for dramatic entrances.  But the hours leading up to my terrible behavior might help my pending court case. Continue reading

Uninspiring

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“You know, you say, ‘fine’, but what I think you really mean is, ‘a spire of volcanic rock just spewed out of the ocean and cooled before our eyes and I have my doubts the boat can turn fast enough.’  Is that what you mean by, ‘we’re fine?'” Allan asked.

The captain, beard waving in the ocean breeze, body moving up and down with the roll of the waves, narrowed his eyes and raised his looking glass, brushing aside Allan’s concerns.

“I’ve seen much worse,” the captain assured the young man.

“When?” Allan protested.

“We’re probably fine,” The captain corrected.

People on the Highway

Driving before the sun is up is odd.  I want to know a better word for it, but ‘odd’ has to suffice.  Lexicon shortage.  Drat.

The odd part about driving before sun is up is that every other light source is at least 45,0000X10^4 brighter than normal.  So that guy in the SUV behind you, the guy who just merged into the left lane to pass you, the guy who forgets to turn off his blinker? Yeah, that guy.  That guy is the worst.

Today’s tale: It was all Yellow Continue reading

Trumpet

old-trumpet-1411142_640 Dust and rust fell from the trumpet like snow.

“It’s a beauty,” said Grandpa Frank.  “Go ahead and play it, Erik.”

Erik had no intention of following the request.  “Wow, no, I couldn’t play your old horn. I’m no good,” Erik tried to deflect.  He was terrified of what tetanus in the mouth would look like.

Grandpa urged again, egging on the grandson to give the horn a chance.  Erik reluctantly drew the horn upward.

Grandpa Frank slapped his head.  “You do everything people tell you? Don’t be silly. This thing needs to be melted down.”

Erik couldn’t agree more.

A Time for Letting Go

morocco-123962_640Axel sang, “but why, oh why, have you left me to die? Was it nature or nurture that lead me here, oh dear, why oh why is the answer unclear?”

He stood, abandoned on the desert, and sent his song to the fleeing car.

“Tell me what did I do today? Tell me how do I prove it’s okay? Tell me, my love and I’ll change everything your way.”

His cell phone buzzed.

“Signal out here, crystal clear!” He sang before looking at the text.

“It’s because of the Michael Bolton impression. I’m leaving you.”

“That stings,” he sang, decrescendo.

Flock

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The flock had seen the Great Lakes, the heads at Mount Rushmore, whatever one calls the empty space between towns in Wyoming.  They had seen these attractions all in the course of a week.

The week prior, the birds had traveled over the Appleseed trail, made friends with wild turkeys in New England and tried their best to spot early Norse settlements in Newfoundland with no luck.

Through it all the birds flew, ate and dirtied windshields with glee.

Only their leader, the wise old Frank Goose knew the true reason of their extended trip; he was lost as fu…

Wilbur Robs a Jewelry Store

Long, deep, loud breaths.  Wilbur could feel his heart race, pulse pounding in his ears.  All he could hear was rapidly pumping blood.

“That heist went south, Man.  How did they get there so fast?” Wilbur’s partner in crime asked.

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.  We got the jewels. We got the money. We’re going to be alright,” Wilbur explained.  He was hardly convinced his own words were true.  His spine pressed into a cold wall of red brick.  He didn’t know what street he and his partner had found refuge on, but he knew the buildings here were not going to hide them for long.

Sirens grew loud and soft again as squad cars moved down a nearby street.

“We have to move,” Wilbur told his partner. Continue reading