The commander took the coffee, nodded his thanks and dismissal.
They sat in the choir loft; it was the only place the tracks didn’t come between them.
He was a butcher, dried blood under his fingernails, bloody boots, aching muscles.
The typewriter sat on the credenza behind the desk, an idol to tech.
He couldn’t understand, where all the cowboys came from — there wasn’t any open range within five-hundred miles.
If the message had been generated by the OS it would mean one thing, but the message had come across the IM client and he wasn’t sure what to make of it, but it was succinct: “Fatal Error.”
She diced the carrots and added them to the stew, not that anyone would notice, not on a conscious level, but it was her art and it was the art that mattered.
Ju always made fresh juice in the morning, part of the routine, grab the fruit, check the fridge for tomorrow’s fruit, then ten, twenty seconds of the mechanical chaos as the juicer beat the fruit into submission, but the juice as it flowed down his throat that he never took for granted, that was never routine.
Simply, he was a legend.
On the south side of town, on a side street next to the Volvo repair shop, in some zoning hic-cup, The Spot survived, a joint that, to survive, had to survive on the down low.
My father’s philosophy came from The Godfather; “never tell anyone what you’re thinking” and “take everything personally” were the big two, so when Uncle Angel told me that the Parrish priest was coming to dinner, I answered respectfully and scratched a big fat hash next to Angel’s name in the ledger.
In Ellie’s family, this particularly unruly Northern Spy orchard outside of Hillsboro was apex of pie fruit, so when her Aunt Elsie called to tell her the apples were in and that there were a couple of bushels waiting and maybe even a pie, we left early, like getting up for work early.
When I invited Jill to dinner, I had no idea, (like she would ever believe that,) that Sally had an agenda, so when the question was thrown down during the main course, and Jill moved her napkin to her mouth, the Clan Menzies might as well as blown the Great Highland Bagpipes.
They slipped out from their desks and met at a bench tucked away in the landscaping overlooking the executive parking lot for a picnic, and it wouldn’t have been topic of conversation, except that the rain was coming down in Mylar sheets.
The jasmine wound itself through the trellis like a charmed snake.
First day is upon us. On 6/20/13 @ 22:04 pdt, The sun reaches its highest excursion relative to the celestial equator. From now until December the nights lengthen.
In winter we retrospect and plan, in spring we grow, in summer we tend, in fall we harvest.
Tomorrow is the beginning of the season of responsibility & maintenance. It is the day to celebrate acceptance. A day I meditate on commitment, discipline, strength and focus. Winter comes.
Ju didn’t realize it was an insult
Ben wondered who had come up with the code.
The bottle of cough medicine was empty.
The L.A. Olympics in 1984 had been the turning point in the negotiations.
The general rule of conduct do not apply.
When he was confused his eyebrows pinched together creating a crease that matched the cleft in his chin, and even though he was still looking at you, he lost focus, and maybe that was why he didn’t realize that it was an insult.
Everywhere codes, zip codes, area codes, De Vinci codes, codes of conduct, but Ben wondered whose sick mind had come up with the hair code.
The hacking cough filled the lightless house, she didn’t want to wake up her mother, yes the cough medicine was gone, but she didn’t want the drama, the hand wringing, the I should of, the I can go; she wanted to be left alone in the comfort of her misery.
As he look out the 12th story window, toward the San Gabriel’s, at the smog blanketing Azusa, he thought of 1984 Olympic planning meeting.
The unofficial Saturday night market, sideshow and outlaw rodeo was a place where the general rules of conduct did not apply, but the norms of behavior were strictly enforced.