“I started writing the one-sentence stories when I was translating ‘Swann’s Way.’ There were two reasons. I had almost no time to do my own writing, but didn’t want to stop. And it was a reaction to Proust’s very long sentences.” ~ Lydia Davis
grouchy bastard drives the good humor ice cream truck and bitches about everything under the sun
Watching life go by in the rear view mirror.
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 carsContinue reading “3:00 A.M. ~ Quick Fiction”
She’s 88 years old, and she is by all means peaches and cream, with a dollop of whip cream on top.
Even though it is still winter, spring cleaning has begun.
Let’s get along, for no other reason than to get along.
All ye caffeine junkies, drink up, and get wired.
He’s known as the ‘why’ man, for he is always asking the why of everything.
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.
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 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.