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[18 Apr 2009 | No Comment | ]
Captain

Your neighbor “Captain” comes over often with his barboy to show off to the ladies. It’s a dusty, rusty aluminum and he signs often as he grips it in his meaty fingers. How bout a 1/2 jigger for Judy? Some more for gin for Joan? And lots much more for Sloane….then he leans over and pops Bill’s Carlsburg, bends over and gracefully twists open Helen’s Bourdeax. Once he left it at the house, came over alone, sly and sleek as if he commited a crime. He  seemed less nimble and …

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[18 Apr 2009 | One Comment | ]
Managerial Mary

Avery, the bartender sits her on the shelf overlooking all the bar patrons and when one gets out of hand–swears, grunts or pops a fellow’s eye out; a simple glance towards her is all one needs. There she sits and watches, her serene eyes forlornly watching the boys, wrestle and wrangle their lives but they make good and all are quiet at once. They stare up at her and give her a toast, the night is calm once more…

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[18 Apr 2009 | No Comment | ]
That Lamp that Ended it All

It sat once, center table at the cabin, old rifles and canning jars surrounding it, the simmery, summer night air pouring around its sunny disposition. We were weak and sold it to Astrid, the neighbor who wore pumpkin rouge. She had a party one evening, we all stumbled over. The lamp sat glumly on a side table until Astrid spilled some gin on it. A great spark rose from the lamp and bounded across the room, uncle Ross’s hair lit on fire, more gin came out he was doused. It …

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[18 Apr 2009 | No Comment | ]
Corn for Karen Carpenter

The last two corn candles lost in the left, listless row at Lefty’s. I say lost because Karen found them under a musty box of rice pudding. Some housewife had stuffed them there, picked them up on a whim, then decided against them knowing Hank would find them frivolous, “Why you buy them corn thingies?! Buy real food not candles!” So Karen picks them up and thinks she has to get back to the studio and record, “Calling Occupants Of Interplanetary Craft” she can’t figure out where that song came …

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[16 Apr 2009 | One Comment | ]
Eleanor Must Go

Duke University, 1952. Bought the radio for the beach trip, it felt good in my hands as I carried it over to Eleanor. She strode by me, a thin wisp of taffeta spilling over her hips, her crepe suit crisp underneath. We were eager to listen to the “Too Old To Cut The Mustard” by Clooney. We got to the beach, turned it on and she started singing and I could of wept because the sound was just plain terrible, my ears felt sliced opened. All her prettiness drained from …