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

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

Helpful

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via Pixabay

“Mack, go help that guy.”

“He looks fine, Pearl.  There’s no need to get involved.”

“How is he fine?”

“Well, he’s not screaming in agony, is he?”

“That should be more alarming.  Look at all this ice.  Poor fella could have bonked his head.”

“Look around, no one else is concerned.”

“Mack. Go help him.”

“Pearl, I’m telling you, Farmer John is fine.  Pearl, don’t give me that look.”

“You haven’t seen a look yet. Go help that poor man before that annoying dog tries to eat his legs.”

“Fine,. I’ll go ‘ba’ at him for a moment.”

“Thank you.”

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…

Just Pictures

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via Pixabay

“Pictures.  They’re just pictures.  You know what people can do with Photoshop these days? Come on. No one will believe they’re real.”

“Reality is constructed, built upon that which people see.  If it can be seen, it can be believed.  Right now, even the possibility that something can be seen builds reality for some.”

“Dave, come on, man. Look, look, I’ll delete the files.”

“You know what people can do with cloud storage these days?”

“Nah, no, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“You saw too much, Marcus.”

“Dave!”

“I am sorry for this. You were a good photographer.”

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

People on the Highway

With the book promotion (free book right here!) going on, I thought perhaps now is time to get back into the series that started it all.  Ah, nostalgia.

I took a new job about six months ago.  No longer working from home, I have taken to a regular commute.  I’m only on the road for thirty to forty minutes in the morning, but rejoining the commuter lifestyle has been incredibly odd.  That is in part because I am on the road at 5:00 in the morning.

5am is a totally different beast than 7am.

Most notably, car accidents are different at 5am.

Today’s tale: Dude, where’s my bumper? Continue reading