August 2009
3 posts
In response to your query.
November 21, 1963
Dear Mr. Harlequin,
You asked me to tell you what I was doing the day they dropped the bomb. I honestly regret to inform you that my memory of the day is a bit hazy. Not for youth or lack of trying, or even apathy. I’ve tried desperately to remember. Unfortunately I was drunk for most of it.
You see in those days I was something of a social butterfly. Which is to say, I had...
Ting.
Quietly. “Ten degrees down bubble.”
Ting.
And the quiet report. “Ten degrees down bubble, aye-aye.”
Ting.
Metal groans and greasy men wince. Shhhh.
Ting.
They will the boat into an unnatural sulk. Shhhh.
Ting.
Two healthy splashes plunge through the silence and pierce the hull.
“Even the planes,” whispers the Lieutenant.
The barrels sink through the murky Atlantic. Murky not with...
Abierto 24 horas.
Tin cans holding roses supported by beans. Dried beans. Of the red variety. On a windowsill. In a brown brick building of ten stories. This is where my day starts. Every morning I say hello to bean-fed roses and goodbye to my cat. Hit the pavement… not so much running… I’ve always been more of an ambler. I pack heat. I pack two pieces of heat actually.One shoots six, one is six shots. Smith &...