My father was a Flint guy, Great Depression edition — blue-collar even when he was in management, hands-on, patriotic, optimistic, and altogether typical of his generation. As a young man, he played baseball, drank beer, smoked whatever cigarettes he could afford, and helped save the world for democracy. [Read more…] about Remembering My Dad
Late morning, driving home from an oil change, Griff was startled when a town appeared where he never knew there was a town. He braked sharply, then felt sheepish that he had and drove ahead to a McDonald’s parking lot. The asphalt was deep black and glittery, and the yellow lines glowed like neon. Griff let the car roll into a spot. He shifted into park. I’m not lost, he thought. I missed a turn. I found this town. You don’t find a town every day. He’d turn around, go back the way he came, be home in no time.
ORIGINAL VERSION:
Late morning with the sun blazing, on his way home from an oil change, Griff was startled when a town appeared where he never knew there was a town. He braked sharply, and then felt sheepish that he had.
He pulled into the roomy parking lot of a McDonald’s. The asphalt was smooth and dark, the yellow lines bright. Place must be new, Griff thought. He shifted the Buick into park, and sat there a moment. I’m not lost. I just missed a turn. Happen to anybody.
He’d go back the way he came.
He’d be home in no time.
I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #381 at Velvet Verbosity.
Mr. Jenkins disliked me on sight. That was surprising. I’m as pleasant as the next guy, and he couldn’t see well.
“I can smell a Jap a mile away,” he said. “How I survived.”
I ignored the slur. “Ready for your walk, sir?” [Read more…] about On the Burma Road
The professor wore the required shirt and shoes. He expected service.
Yes, his pants were missing. So were his underpants, his socks and his wife of 38 years, if anyone cared for details.
The girl behind the counter gaped at him, her mouth a perfect O. The professor set down a bottle. “It’s all in your imagination,” he told her. True enough. What could she see beyond the counter-top? A man in bifocals and a wrinkled shirt. “Let’s get on with it.” He pulled a bill from his shirt pocket, and unfurled it beside the register.
She rang him up.
I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #336 at Velvet Verbosity.