A hot and humid night in the city. People without a/c, having a hard time trying to get any sleep. Some of them choose to go outside, sitting on the stoops at 3:00 a.m. They see there are quite a few of their fellow citizens, doing the same thing. Talking and watching the few cars and trucks pass their homes. After a while some will go back inside, and give sleep another try, knowing in a couple of hours, some will be off to their jobs, and others call in sick.
It’s a feeling Tom relishes in life. Driving on the interstate at 3:00 a.m. He loves the freedom of the open road, considering he is one of the few cars, along with the tractor trailers, doing the long haul. When he is cruising at the set speed control, he pops in one of his favorite jazz cds, and it keeps him in a relax state of mind.
Doing meditation atop a snow pile.
The strong gusts of wind woke Joann from a sound sleep. She peered at the clock, and it was exactly 3:00 a.m. She got out of bed, and the hardwood floor felt cold. She checked the thermostat, and it was 63 degrees. She turned on the heat, went the bathroom to do her business, and when she was done, and the heat never went on. She checked the thermostat to see if she set it to the right temperature. So her next move was to check the oil tank, and lo and behold, the thank was empty. She went back upstairs, and called her oil company she does business with, and told them she was out of oil, and could they send someone to her home and make a delivery. The woman at the oil company said they can make a delivery within an hour, and there would be a $50.00 surcharge. She asked why about the charge, and she was told that it was off hours, and they had to pay the driver time and a half. If she didn’t want to pay the charge, then she would have to wait till 8:00 a.m., or shortly there after. She decided to have them deliver the much need oil, and vowed never to let it happen again.
When the new heating season begins in the fall, she will have automatic delivery, and so she will never have to go through without oil, ever again.
It was one those nights, Ned was tossing and turning, and restless. He looked at the alarm clock, and it read 3:00 a.m. He decided to get up, put his clothes on, grabbed his keys and cigarettes, and went for a walk. The air was warm, and the stars were shining. It felt good to walk in the quiet solitude, of the tree lined street he resides on.
When he returned home, he felt like a new man, and the stroll helped clean out the cobwebs in his head. After all was said and done, Ned went back to bed, and before you know it, he was out like a light.
The village square is for the most of the time, relatively dead, that you can hear a pin drop on the steel grating. But on this early morning hour at 3:00 a.m., accompanied by a full moon, and a few scattered clouds creeping by, something odd was happening. There were a pack of dogs chasing a man. His face was panic stricken, and hollering for help, but no one bothered to call the local sheriff.
Two hours went by, when a driver for the bread and pastries company was making a delivery to the diner, when he found a man’s body mauled to death. The man was so badly bitten and scratched, was close to being unrecognizable. The sheriff along with the county sheriff, and the state police, are puzzled as to why nobody heard the man’s screams for help.
To this day, it is still an open case, and eventually become a cold case file.
A late winter storm, dumping copious amounts of snow on the streets and avenues, in the downtown area. Its 3:00 a.m., not a soul to be seen venturing in the deepening snow. Even the plows are having a hard time keeping the roads cleared. The only places that are still open, are a 24 hour mini mart, and a drug store, neither of the doing much business at all.
The pandemic has a done a number on quite a few businesses, and some of them have shuttered for good. So, with the economy tanking, and now the latest storm, won’t help most of the remaining stores, as it will keep the pedestrians home, and will have to put up with more cabin fever, which they have been going through for the past 11 months.
They feel that its a never ending story.
Every morning, at 3:00 a.m., you will find an elderly gentleman, sitting in his favorite booth, having a cup of coffee. He has been patronizing this certain coffee shop, since he retired many years ago from the book editing job, that he had for over 35 years.
He usually is the only one there, and he has gotten use to the solitude he enjoys. It doesn’t matter what the weather is like. It can be cold, hot and humid, raining or snowing, it will not stop him from walking the two blocks from where he lives in a high rise downtown apartment.
When he’s finished his coffee, he will take one to go, and then stop at the kiosk, and by the morning newspaper. Later in the day, he will take a nap, recharge his batteries, and then he will go about whatever he feels like doing.
He’s dancing to the music in his head.
“To think that realistic fiction is by definition superior to imaginative fiction is to think imitation is superior to invention.”
~ Ursula K. Le Guin – Author, Born: October 21, 1929
Change is good, replied the cashier.
“Novels are fictions and therefore they tell lies, but through those lies every novelist attempts to tell the truth about the world.”
~ Paul Auster
The entire cast of know-it-all, know nothing so-called leaders of the free world, are all aboard an all expenses gladfully paid for, at the taxpayers expense, a non-returnable flight, on the spaceship emptiness. It is heading straight on into the void, and will never be heard from again.
“Practice any art, music, singing, dancing, acting, drawing, painting, sculpting, poetry, fiction, essays, reportage, no matter how well or badly, not to get money and fame, but to experience becoming, to find out what’s inside you, to make your soul grow.”
~ Kurt Vonnegut
“Kurt Vonnegut Once Sent This Amazing Letter To A High School” by Emily Thomas, http://www.huffingtonpost.com. October 6, 2014.
Science and fiction both begin with similar questions: What if? Why? How does it all work? But they focus on different areas of life on earth.
the middle-age couple, go at it, day and night. always arguing. talking very loud, loud enough to be heard at least a block away. the police have made numerous visits, and have warned them many a time, to cool their jets, or else they will get their asses hauled off to the precinct house. most of the time, they will obey the cops, and keep it down, yet…a day doesn’t go by that the couple erupts into another explosion, of an explosion of screaming and hollering. they’re not exactly the junes and wards cleavers of the world.
That is the joy of reading fiction: when all is said and done, the novel belongs to the reader and his or hers imagination.
~ Alice Hoffman
*French philosopher, 1909-1943
The half-whacked preacher, is speaking the unspeakable of a lewd and lascivious nature.
Caught stealing his neighbor’s newspaper, he declared depraved indifference.
Mr Positive debates Mr Negative. Egos clash. Neither comes out a winner. Both egos deflated.
Trekking with the numerous lost souls. The journey continues on.
All ye caffeine junkies, drink up, and get wired.
Chasing the American dream. Its elusive.
During his morning stroll, the elderly man is curious, as to how many bricks did they use in making the one block long sidewalk. Maybe one day, he will find the answer, by the tedious task of counting the red rectangular blocks of clay.
“Novels are fictions and therefore they tell lies, but through those lies every novelist attempts to tell the truth about the world.”
~ Paul Auster, Author (B. February 3, 1947)
He’s known as the ‘why’ man, for he is always asking the why of everything.
A head filled with scatterbrain ideas.
A toast to the human madness.
She’s savoring the all around beauty, of the numerous wild flowers.
She lives in a household full of mad, whacked-out people.
Living the life of a nomad.
Her Sunday breakfast special, soupy pancakes.
The daily daydreamers bus has arrived.
Willie and Wilma are at the kitchen table, drinking day-old brewed coffee, and both are wondering why it tastes like shit.
She’s basking in the fake sun, reading fake news, and working on her fake tan.
Delusional thoughts, warped ideas, a mind full of fabrications and he believes, that whatever he says is the truth, when he damn well knows they are lies, bullshit, etc., etc….
She knew the weather is bad, but she was determined to venture out to the bodega, to get milk, as she had none left. Bundled up, she encountered white out conditions, and soon enough, she got disoriented, and didn’t know where she was.
The next morning her son woke up, and his mother was not home. He called his aunt to see if she was there, and she said no.
An hour later, there was a knock on the door. It was the police notifying him, that a man out walking his dog. found her face down on a snowbank, and apparently froze to death.
Imagination and fiction make up more than three quarters of our real life. -Simone Weil
Agnes, the goddess of children’s story telling.
he awoke around 2:00 am and he couldn’t get back to sleep he decided to thrown on some clothes and take a walk the air was warm and it made him feel good ambling on down the street he sees two women in black heels totally naked standing at the corner as he approached they said that he was welcome to join them if he was in his forties sorry i’m in my sixties oh well he said thanks anyways for the invite off he went further down the street he came upon two men also in their 40s and they asked him if he wanted to join them nope i’m in my 60s he went into the 24 hour store and bought a pack of chewing gum and asked the guy behind the counter who are those two naked men outside i don’t see anybody standing out their he was kind of dumbstruck so he paid for his gum an a bottle of water headed back home he never saw the two men or the women on his return to his home about couple of minutes after 2:00 am he woke up wondering what the hell the dream was all about was it real did it really happen only he knows
Sam was in his glory, as the woman behind the counter, gave him a bag of day old muffins and doughnuts. She also filled his thermos with fresh brewed coffee.
Sam is homeless, and has no job. He forages in the dumpsters for returnable cans and bottles, which keeps him busy.
Now he is thankful for people like the woman that works at the local bakery. Sam sees the best the best in people, and that’s a good thing.
She said, your hearing me, but not listening. He said, oh.
He never does what the play book says to do. Just wings it, and hopes for the best out come.
He: Did he do it?
She: What did he do?
He: I’m asking you, did he do it?
She: What did he do?
He: You know what he did.
She: I have know idea what you are talking about.
He: I think you do.
She: You think, but you don’t know for sure.
He; Well, back to the question. Did he do it?
She: I still have no idea what you are try to see.
He: You do, and I am 99.9 percent sure.
She: Still there is that .1 percent tells me that you are not sure about it.
The reporter for the local newspaper, fueled with excessive amounts of caffeine, is typing away like a mad man. His editor loves his work, even though he his in his own world, no one dares to tell him to slow down. The reason is, that a colleague told him to take a break, and that turned into a big mistake. The madman told him to shut the fuck up, and to mind his own fucking business. Needless to say, that was the one and only time that anyone would have the balls to say anything to him, about his habit.
She sleeps soundly on a mattress filled with stiff straw.
He said, “Oh shit.” She told him to watch his mouth. So for the rest of the day, he looked into the hand held mirror, never to put it down.
Standing under the spreading maple tree, he is fretting, and mumbling, as what he will say, to his long lost daughter. It’s been at least 10 plus years, that they had any contact.
She finally showed up, and it was an awkward feeling. A few minutes passed by, and the angst he was feeling was gone. They hugged, and we’re both misty eyed, then the conversing began. They told each other what they are doing with their lives.
The happy father and daughter went to the corner deli, had a nice lunch of sandwiches, coffee and let the bygones, be bygones.
By day, he lives the life of a monk. In the evening, a con artist, is his vocation.
The young couple, love dancing in the rain.
Joel would do anything, to see his long, lost love. He would walk bare foot on hot coals, a bed of nails or a flooded street. She meant so much to him, but he could not understand why she refused to see him. He would give it one more try and talk to her and if she still would not give him a satisfactory answer, as to why she ended it, then he would just go back home, and sit in his favorite chair, and stare at the four walls, to ponder, what if, and there were many what ifs.
On almost any given night, the insomniacs congregate at the mid-town diner, with cups of coffee to discuss the different reasons, of the whys they cannot sleep.
Preaching to the choir for harmony.
The green look on his face says, he had something to eat, that certainly did not agree with him. Hello bathroom.
The jury’s back. Not looking good.
Moaning and groaning is his calling.
He and she, will never see eye to eye, and it will always be like that.
A nightmare on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
His breath wreaks of cheap booze.
His boat doesn’t sail on water.
His mind is filled with impure thoughts, accompanied with lust in his heart and loins.
Snake oil salesmen, awash in Washington.
Sign adhered on the merchant’s door says, “Gone fishing for fish, for my favorite aunt’s dinner.” “Wish me luck.”
He and she, will forever be.
On a beautiful warm day, he decides to go outside, and sits himself down on the stoop. He takes out his blues harp, and plays some down home blues. Some of the passersby stop to watch him, and love what they are hearing. That makes him a very happy guy.
The moon is dark.
The wolves are quiet.
Makes for an eerie feeling.
He is the man who never plans for anything. Just wings it, and he is fine with that.
Only the brave will walk in the darkness of a dense forest, and will come out unscathed.
Sitting in the shade, enjoying life.
He’s known as the “I said it, but I didn’t say it” guy.
Gazing at the white, puffy clouds.
She has a bad habit of mincing words, and she will never change. Its in her DNA.
Watching paint dry, could be exhilarating.
Whenever he has anything to say, he rambles like a babbling brook.
He’s never wrong.
So it goes.
He is the master of deceit.
The look of love is showing in her eyes, while lust was in his heart. They hit it off.
So it goes. So it goes.
Whenever proven wrong, he won’t apologize.
The prophet loves to spread his doom and gloom, while imbibing with a bottle of his favorite whiskey.
She impressed him with her sensuality.
Free floating like a soaring eagle.
She’s always been known to be a people person.
His daily regimen of 30 some odd years for lunch is, baloney and cheese with mustard on wheat. He never believed in having anything different.
He is known as the master of manipulation.
Buried the ax, all is forgiven.
She only ate toast on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The reason is, both days begin with the letter “T.”
She decided today would be good to pay a visit, to the new super market, which is having a grand opening. Off she went, to see what the store has to offer.
Well, she couldn’t believe what was happening. There was quite a few people pushing the shopping carts, putting imaginary food, paper goods, milk and other sort of goodies. Everything in the store was not real. You just imagine that you are putting a gallon of milk in the cart. The same with everything else. The customers going to the checkout registers, putting their imaginary food and stuff on the belt, and paying for it, with real money, and or credit/debit cards.
She was spooked to say the least, as asking herself, was she living in another dimension. Or was it something out of the old TV show “The Twilight Zone.”
She decided she had seen enough, left the store, and saw people bringing their bags of imaginary food to their cars. She headed straight home, called one of her friends, and told her she saw. Her friend thought she was a bit off, and told her to speak to her shrink, but instead, she pulled out a bottle of vodka, and a couple of hours later, she was shit faced.
The next morning, after her hangover wore off, she went back to the same store, to see if she was imagining it. Lo and behold, the store wasn’t there. WTF! She asked a person what happened to the store that was here yesterday, and he said, what store. She said the new super market. He replied, lady, there never was a super market, so you must be imagining things, or was hallucinating.
After another minute or two, she went back home, and opened another bottle of vodka, and drank herself to sleep.
He never socializes with his co-workers.
Spending quality time with no one.
She is standing on the railing of the fourth floor balcony, threatening to jump. A passerby, who actually knew her, looked up, and shouted up and asked, “what are you doing?” She replied, “its all over, so I’m going to end it all by jumping down to the ground.” He pleaded with her not to do it. She said, “I have to.” ‘Please don’t try to talk me out of it.”
In the mean time, a small started to gather, waiting to see what she is going to do.
She hollered down to the man that knows her, and asked him, how much you want to wager, that I will jump off this railing? He said, “$10.00.” She laughed. “Why are you laughing?” he asked. She said, “let’s make it more worth while bet.” Okay he said, “25.00.” She said, “$50.00.” Another person shouted, “$75.00.” Another said, “$100.00.” She said, “your on.”
All of the people watching, now started to shout “jump!” And they shouted it a few times, and finally, she jumped backwards, onto the floor of the balcony. The people were disappointed, especially the ones who lost their bets, and she was leaning over the railing, yelling “I’m on my way down to collect the money, you chumps owe me.”
Later in the day, she is running different ideas in her head, as to see who or how many people, she can fool and make some easy money.
On Sundays, she likes to keep everything simple.
There’s a group sitting in chairs, and a few others sprawled on the floor, are reading lines for a casting call. They all have hopes of getting the chance of acting in a Broadway play. In the end, it will be one male, and a female that will make the cut. Needless to say, there were a few frayed nerves, edginess, and one pacing around the room, which was all said and done, happened to be the one that got a role in the production. The only time he did any acting, was back in the fifth grade.
As for the others who didn’t make it, some of them had prior acting experience. In the scheme of things, some of them knew that working on Broadway or off Broadway, is like a roll of the dice. Make it, or break it.
The man tells me he has a real exciting job. “So, what do you do that excites you about your job?” He says, “splitting atoms using plastic cutlery.” I was dumb founded and speechless. After a minute or two, he asked me what I did for work. My reply, “cleaning up the bullshit people leave, as some do make a real mess, and it is an endless task.”
After that rather dull conversation, we parted ways.
Without warning, her coffee maker died.
A way for him to enjoy peace and solitude, he likes to go for a sail on the calm, blue water.