lost and found

its a perfect day to take a stroll, when a young female stops a few feet away. she has a dumbfounded look on her face… he stops dead in his tracks … excuse me… you look like you are lost… she replied… i am lost … do you need help… since you say that you are lost… nope… okay … so how can i help you in any other way … she told him i am no longer lost … huh … why is that he asked… because i found you … so my quest is over for finding the first man that noticed i was lost…

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oh how the words come flowing out. makes writing so much fun…

A Writer’s Life

“Reading is the creative center of a writer’s life. I take a book with me everywhere I go, and find there are all sorts of opportunities to dip in. The trick is to teach yourself to read in small sips as well as in long swallows. Waiting rooms were made for books— of course! But so are theater lobbies before the show, long and boring checkout lines, and everyone’s favorite, the john. You can even read while you’re driving, thanks to the audiobook revolution. Of the books I read each year, anywhere from six to a dozen are on tape.”

~ Stephen King

Strangers In The Park

Sitting on a park bench, reading one of his favorite authors, he noticed out of the corner of his eye, an acquaintance that he hasn’t seen in ages. He remembered her name, but as far some of the particulars go, they just passed right by him. He finally looked up, and said hello, and she said I know you, but can’t remember where I’ve seen you before.

After a few moments of happy chat, she still couldn’t place him, and when she got home, to look him up on the internet. What she learned was that he was a high school teacher, never married, and no brothers and sisters.

With that info, she was contemplating to whether to call him, and hopefully meet up with him, or just call it a day, and move on.

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I write for the hell of it.

Why Me

It is one of those days, when nothing seems to go right for a number of reasons. So what were the things that ended up ruining the neighbor’s day.
He looks out the window and sees that his car stolen…no milk in the fridge for his cereal…coffee maker shit the bed…later in the day…he burnt his sirloin steak…

With everything that went south,he took a double dose of Xanax..and called it a day.

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I write to entertain the masses.

A Much Needed Change

With all the bullshit going with the Delta virus flaring up in his state, Jim decided to pack his bags, jump in his car, and head out of state.

After driving north for the past four hours, he decided to keep going in the same direction. Eventually, he got on Interstate 95 North, and saw the sign for Portland, Maine. He stayed overnight at the rest stop…rested up…then topped off the gas tank, and after a bite to eat he proceeded back on his journey.

Around five hours later, he was approaching the US-Canadian border in Houlton, went through the all the questions the Canadian border police asked, and then proceeded on 95 in Woodstock, New Brunswick.

He felt so relieved to be in a country where the people are a lot friendlier, and that made up his mind to want live in Canada, and leave the past behind.

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I write as it keeps me sane.

Not What She expected

A rural upbringing, she decided to move to a big city.

The realtor won her over with all the good things and the closeness to some of the best restaurants, cinemas, etc., etc…so she agreed to take the one bedroom apartment, which was on 12th floor.

What she didn’t expect, was the littered sidewalks, traffic tie ups, and the constant or she seemed think that there the sound of sirens…police cruisers, fire engines, ambulances…

She felt uncomfortable seeing the homeless lying down on the benches…sidewalks…the panhandlers asking for money.

So after a couple of months of living in a city rife with all the things that she got tired of dealing with…she came to the conclusion, of moving back to the small village that she still adores, and never again live in a city.

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I write because its something I like to do.

A Sight For Sore Eyes

Saturday morning, he goes down to his favorite bakery to buy a couple of bran muffins and a coffee to go. As he is waiting for his order to be finished, he hears the bell atop the door ring, and what he sees is his ex-girlfriend from a few years back. It immediately brought back some bad memories, and now he’s at a loss for words.

They looked at each other, neither one said a word, and when his order was ready, he paid for his stuff, and left the premises. All the way home, he he wished that he never went out. When he finally arrives at his home, he puts the muffins on the counter, then go to his spot on the floor and meditate, knowing that it will clear up his head.

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I write because this is what I do.