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.
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.
Orbiting the sun for 72 years plus. An experience of many dimensions.
Walking in freshly falling snow. Heavenly.
Watching the canary do his thing.
Gloomy weather casts a weary face.
He’s dancing to the music in his head.
Walking on eggshells. An uncomfortable feeling.
Plodding along like an old ox.
No coffee. No reason staying awake.
Late Sunday morning. Snowflakes descending gracefully.
Power naps. Recharges the low batteries.
Snow, wind, ice. A perfect trifecta.
Brain freeze. Brain cramp. Warped mind.
Its February. Its snowing. Its wonderful.
Soon, better days are coming. Maybe.
Mug of hot coffee. All good.
Cold. Not record cold. Just cold!
The wind tells a unique tale.
Kicking back. Relaxed. Long day, done.
Gazing into space. Contemplating what if.
Another gusty windy day. Oh my.
The canary is tweeting his songs.
Its 4:24 PM, all is good.
Change is good, replied the cashier.
Did you hear? No I didn’t.
Slip, sliding, spinning on the ice.
Pouring rain. Walking outdoors on standby.
Brand new day. Same old shit.
Sunday frame of mind. All good.
2020 finished. Time to move on.
Yesterday’s rain washed the snow away.
“We need to write because so many of our stories are not being heard. Where could they be heard in this era of fear and media monopolies? Writing allows us to transform what has happened to us and to fight back against what’s hurting us. While not everyone is an author, everyone is a writer and I think that the process of writing is deeply spiritual and liberatory.”
Walking on crunchy snow. Beautiful feeling.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Agnes, the goddess of children’s story telling.
If you tell a true story, you can’t be wrong. -Jack Kerouac
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.
Truth be told, he’s known as the great deflector.
Whenever proven wrong, he won’t apologize.