I’m not really sure what the motivation for capturing this on video was …. but enjoy anyway.
I present … whatever the fuck this is
Flash Fiction
Archived Posts from this Category
June 19, 2008
Old Man
Posted by fred1979 under Flash Fiction | Tags: creative writing, descriptive, fiction, short, story, writing |[2] Comments
The old man danced down the sidewalk like coconuts in the breeze, which is to say slowly and in scarcely perceptible waves. It wasn’t dancing really. It was drunkenness and old age. I sat and watched him approach my bench in his shuffling, drunken way. At ten feet, I smelled whiskey. Cheap whiskey. The kind of liquor that doubles as a varnish remover when you’re in a tight spot.
His clothes could best be described as a series of moth holes politely interrupted every now and then by some fabric. I wondered if he knew that his underwear were clearly visible. Asking the question seemed to be a bit too much. His hat was khaki. There were fishing flies stuck in it. It made it just that much more bizarre; flies in the only article of clothing that he was wearing that hadn’t appeared to have been eaten by moths.
His beard was gray and dingy. He muttered to himself as he walked along. I couldn’t make it out clearly, but I’d swear that he was saying “saffron” over and over again. As he got nearer, I had the debate. Should I smile? Should I ignore him? Would he notice either? I decided to ignore him. He was odd and clearly in a bad way. If I were him, I’d want to be left alone.
After getting about two feet past me, he turned and screamed “BOO” into my face. I leapt. He turned around and laughed. He went on his way. I shook my head.
June 2, 2008
“Change”
Posted by fred1979 under Flash Fiction | Tags: creative, fiction, flash, writing |No Comments
“Change”
George popped from the pavement like an out of joint thumb. What was he doing here? Surely analysts at the NSA would see him soon in the routine satellite images they were tasked with studying and laugh hard spitting coffee from their noses directly onto their computer screens. He was the first man wearing a tie in the history of the streets of Winslow that wasn’t on a damage-surveying or fact-finding mission in some official capacity.
The people on the street were staring, some in confusion and some with more sinister thoughts. George had been marked for death, robbery, kidnapping, rape, extortion, and even identity theft in the three blocks that he’d walked to this point. He’d been marked each twice. The neighborhood was bad. People that lived to the age of eighteen in a place like Winslow were like Chuck Norris jokes come to life. Did you hear about the time that the guy from Winslow ran around the world and punched Superman in the back of the head? Things like that.
He passed three men sitting on the stoop of a ramshackle brownstone. They gave him that look. The look that urged him to run or be eaten. George pressed on. He wasn’t in for noticing things like this tonight. His stomach churned and whipped itself into fits. Knotted stomach aside, George had some things to prove. He scanned the street as he walked. He was looking for the man he heard about, the one with the guns.
Janine had left him. He’d seen it coming. He always knew. There was always something different in the air. A coldness, a smell, a taste. It was non-specific and it changed from time to next. It was like obscenity for his soul – he knew it when he saw it.
She was cheating on him. It always ended this way. His ennui stood unabated, unmitigated by the fact that this was three women in three years. He found little consolation in the persistence of his also-ran status. He thought that it should be easier. It wasn’t.
It was the same reason as the other times. Janine thought he was great. She didn’t want to hurt him. George loved that line. He wanted to scream “how’d that work out?” at the top of his lungs but he didn’t have that in him. Janine thought he was a really nice guy.
The word ‘nice’ ate George for nearly a week. It made him feel pudding on the buffet at the fat kids’ camp. He had to know. He had to find out.
He followed Janine for three days. He hid behind poles, in shadows, and between cars. He had to see him. George had to know if this guy was like the last two. His fears were confirmed on the third day. He saw Janine leaving her house with a man that must be him. He was rough and muscular. He looked like he knew his way around a bar fight.
George ran up to them. He caused a scene. The man was even tougher than he has looked to George from behind his tree. He was coarse. He spoke like a longshoreman or a truck driver or something. For all that George knew, that’s what he was. Not unexpectedly, things between George and the man-ape became heated rather quickly. George was quickly down on the ground and bleeding – questioning life and his persistent attachment to it.
Ultimately, Janine showed George how much she thought of him by stepping over him as he lie on the pavement with both his body and spirit crushed. George lay there on the hard, cold pavement for about ninety seconds. It was enough. He decided to change. He could be that guy. He could be rough. He could be tumble. He would become unpredictable, unplottable.
He spoke to a shifty salesman at work the next day. Maurice would hook him up with a guy that would get him a gun. George could get a gun in a store. He certainly didn’t have a criminal record. That’s what the old George would do. He thought that it would make him seem more edgy and unpredictable. He thought that it would prove something. God only knows what.
Passing under a pigeon shit-strewn overpass littered nearly equally with broken bottles and men of broken dreams, George saw a man leaning against an Escalade. It was shiny and black with rims that seemed to act as some kind of bizarre amplifier – taking the light from the sun and reflecting it back at a far greater volume and frequency than when they received it. A man stood next to it. George walked up to the man. A massive lump seemed to have moved into George’s throat. As he debated the etiquette surrounding house guests that won’t leave and how, if at all, that applied to the lump in his throat, the man stared at George.
“You lost pal?”
George felt like a complete waste. An utter failure at life. He couldn’t even get the words out. Janine and the others were right. He had the hair-shirt halfway on. The only thing keeping it from sliding into place were the constant air-sluicing reports of the results of his self-flagellation.
“You speak English?”
“Yes.” George had found it. The ability to speak. He had a feeling that it was in there somewhere.
“You need something from me or are you just filing away my picture for later when you get some alone time?”
George laughed nervously. He softly spat out: “Maurice was supposed to tell you that I was coming.”
“What? What the hell are you talking about? I can’t hear you man. Don’t waste my fucking time. I ain’t standin’ out here all night like some kind of asshole for some guy to mumble shit at me.”
George’s terror increased in bounds. It was driven not only by the tone of the words, or the words themselves. It was the look in his eyes as he said them. He fucking hated her for being right. He hated them all.
“Sor- sorry. Maurice was supposed to tell you that I was coming by. I needed something from you.”
“I got a voicemail from Maurice. I didn’t listen to it though. Maurice is a douche.”
George really, desperately hated the way that this was going. The man’s brow was furrowed. His face hard and resolute. He seemed more angry with each passing second. George weighed the situation in his mind. He thought about proving this to himself. He thought about proving it to Janine. He couldn’t speak. He decided to run. It wasn’t worth it. He turned and bolted down the street. He was quickly on the pavement, bleeding from his face.
He looked around. A large part of him hoped that he had died. He hadn’t. He could tell because he could hear the gun thug laughing at him. His laughs bounced, echoed, and ricocheted around the inside of the overpass. George felt it ringing inside of his head. He smelled urine. He decided to get up, to get away. He noticed it when he stood up. He had tripped over a homeless man sleeping on the sidewalk. He sighed and walked away.
May 21, 2008
Paul And The Steamroller
Posted by fred1979 under Flash Fiction | Tags: fiction, Flash Fiction, short, sotry, steamroller, story, writing |No Comments
“Did I ever tell you the story about Paul and the steamroller?”
Ted let out a low chuckle and replied: “Paul? Steamroller? No, I don’t think so. Did you know a guy named Paul that got flattened by a steamroller?”
“No smart-ass, that was Bugs Bunny. It wasn’t that kind of steamroller.”
“OOOK then.”
“Anyway … when I was sixteen my friends and I all hung out with this guy named Weirds; Uncle Weirds actually. His name was actually Dave. Being a weird guy, the name just came. Even my friends’ parents called him Weirds. It was his thing. He was Uncle Weirds to us because he was my friend’s uncle.”
Ted laughed to himself and smiled because he knew this was going to be another of Tom’s stories. Tom was always able to amaze Ted with crazy stories from his life.
“Weirds was a really great guy once you got to know him, but it was easy to see how he earned the nickname. He was very slight. He was easily less than five feet tall and I’d be surprised if he weighed 125 pounds. He was always drunk. He was prone to falling on the floor after removing his pants for no discernable reason.”
Ted was laughing really hard. “You’ve got to be making some of this up.”
Tom looked him right in the eye. “I’m not making it up AND I’m not done yet.”
Tears were running from Ted’s eyes.
“The pants thing? It happened to me once. He fell on the floor, dick in the wind of course, and looked at me and said ‘Woah … look what I done now.’ He was shit-faced. It was like eleven in the morning. As I said before, there was more. He had a giant porn ‘stache. Really … it would’ve put anyone from the ‘70s to shame. He had a voice that sounded like seventy-one kittens being drowned in a bag while it was being hit with a bat. He sharply mewled more than spoke. The other thing about his voice that was weird was the cadence of it. His words would seem to get lost on their way out of his mouth sometimes. It was like they were too drunk to float out or something.”
Ted was grinning ear to ear. He loved the story.
“He used to call me at like eight in the morning occasionally to drive him to work … because he was too drunk to drive. Now if that’s not weird enough for you, just imagine how my parents felt. Their sixteen year old son was getting early morning calls from a piss drunk forty-five year old man. Yeah, that was pleasant to deal with.”
“I’ve heard so many crazy stories from you that I’d almost imagine that they’d expect it.”
“Yeah, I’ve had an interesting life. Yes, let’s say interesting.”
“So what about Paul and the steamroller?”
“You have so little faith in me. I’m getting there. I had to set the scene.”
“Sorry.”
“No problem. OK, so anyway, my friends and I hang out with a forty-five year old wino basically. We used to go over to his house all the time. We’d drink (obviously), get high, listen to music – that sort of thing.”
“He got high with you too?”
“You’re honestly surprised by that? Jesus man, what story have you been listening to?”
“Well I thought that maybe….” Ted trailed off. He’d been dumb. He knew it.
Tom went on. “So one day we decide to go over to his house at lunchtime. We used to get out for lunch every day because the school that we went to didn’t have a cafeteria.”
“ I forget sometimes how small the school you went to was.”
“It was pretty crazy. We shared books.”
“You did not!”
“Yeah, you’re right. We didn’t. It was a really small school though.”
“So anyway … Mr. Distraction … we went to Weirds at lunch because we had weed and wanted to smoke it. We climb the stairs and knock on the door. We hear someone inside cough. Weirds voice breaks the silence. He softly mewls ‘come in.’ I walk in the door first and see Weirds sitting on the couch. He smiles at us and turns the stereo back up.”
“What was he listening to?”
“Marley, of course. Look man, you don’t get to be that weird by being afraid of clichés.”
“Yeah, I should’ve known.”
“I look over at the other couch and recognize the guy sitting on it. He’s holding his breath. I can tell that they were getting high when we knocked on the door. It was so funny, it was like he thought that he could hold his breath until we left or something. Weirds slapped him on the back when he started turning purple.”
“Who was it?”
“It was this guy Paul that I’d known since I was in the third grade. The amusing part though is how I knew him. He was my little league coach. “
“No shit? You caught your little league coach getting high?”
“Oh the story isn’t over yet. It gets a bit more bizarre. Paul was an odd character. I have no idea how anyone decided to leave this man in charge of a group of young kids. First of all, he didn’t have a kid on the team. He just coached for the fuck of it. He’d been doing it for a while. Hell, he’s probably still coaching. Secondly, he invented a kind of uniform for himself. He always wore shorts. I never saw him in pants once. That’s not that weird right? Yeah but, they were silk Richard Simmons style booty shorts. Very fucking bizarre. His balls would fall out like three times each practice. One of us would say “hey Paul, your balls are hanging out” and he’d just yell “thanks” and tuck himself back in.”
“Wait, your coach’s balls were constantly hanging out?”
“Yes, Terrible Listener, they were. But back to what I was saying… he wore sunglasses ALWAYS. Sunrise or sunset, Paul was rocking the shades. He also wore our team’s hat EVERYWHERE. You could see him going into the bar in the dead of winter (in booty shorts of course) and he’d have the hat cocked oddly to an angle on the top of his head. There may have been a bulb that lit up over my head as I saw him exhale the smoke. It all suddenly made sense. Paul was high all the time. Feeling relieved, I finally smiled.”
Tom paused for a second. He was waiting for the anticipation to fill well up to Ted’s eyes. It always did. Seeing it, he moved on.
“So Weirds asks me if I’ve brought my steamroller.“
“What’s a steamroller?”
“A steamroller is similar to a bong, but there’s no water and typically it’s a straight pipe.”
“Oh. I’ve seen those before.”
“Yeah, I had a feeling you would’ve Hunter S. Thompson.”
“Whatever dude.”
“I’m just busting your balls. Ok, back to the story. I turned to Weirds and said: ‘of course I did.’ Paul got this really sad look in his eyes. I watched his heart break… or it seemed that way until he realized that we could match him.”
“You smoked pot with your little league coach?”
“Of course I did dude. He had really good shit.”
May 15, 2008
The Doctor Will See You Now
Posted by fred1979 under Flash Fiction | Tags: dark, doctor, fiction, flash, Flash Fiction, short, writing |[3] Comments
The prompt for this story came from P.F. Montgomery at Fuzzy Typewriter. It was simply the word “bell”. So thanks for the prompt and the editing help. I really fought with this one. I hope that you like it.
“The Doctor Will See You Now”
My head has been pounding since I woke up. I’m blindfolded and handcuffed to a chair. There’s a gag in my mouth. It tastes terrible and smells like chemicals. My screams are muffled by the gag. I’ve been struggling to get free. I think that I’m alone; nobody has responded to my screams or reacted to the noise of the chair shuffling and slamming into the floor.
I’ve been trying to piece it all together for the last fifteen minutes. I left work around seven after a long hard day at the newspaper. I’ve been working very hard lately on this exceptionally involved piece that could end up making a lot of waves if I play it right. I’ve hardly seen Penelope in weeks. I was walking down Fifth Avenue talking on the phone to her. We argued a little. This story has been tough on both of us. I promised her that it would be over in a few days. As a compromise, I was going to take her to our favorite Italian restaurant tonight. At the moment, I’m sure that she’s sitting at home dressed to kill and thinking that she might kill me if I should ever arrive home. The hope that I have that stands above all of the others is that I’ll get to see her again.
I remember crossing White Street. I love this city in the fall. It’s so nice to feel the cool breeze on your face as it cascades down off the tops of the buildings. Even the rain isn’t so bad most of the time. It comes down softly and slightly cold, but cold in a way that makes getting out of it feel so much better. This was not one of those nights. Tonight, the rain was coming down in sheets. It ran down my face and dripped from the end of my nose as I crossed White Street. I could smell another round of bread baking at the bakery on the far corner. It must have been a busy day at Marino’s.
I noticed a disheveled man standing between two buildings as I left White Street behind. He watched me coming closer to him with an odd smile on his face. The smile almost made recoil. I tried my best to keep the winces to myself. He was menacing. He was wearing a filthy, tattered lab coat. I wouldn’t have been surprised if you told me that it was made out of puppy skin. The rain kept me from seeing the dinner bell in his hands until I was only ten feet from him. The last thing that I noticed after the bell was the strong smell of peanuts and urine. He smelled like an elephant trainer that had a bad day. I realized who he was just a second too late.
Maybe most people wouldn’t have noticed the bell, or at the very least wouldn’t have thought much of it outside of “that crazy guy has a dinner bell in his hand.” Many would’ve made a little joke to themselves about it and moved on. I wouldn’t have noticed if I weren’t for Dr. Mitchell. Mitchell took the joy of bells from me forever. I nearly piss myself every single time I pass by a church when the bells are ringing. I use a service that calls me in the morning rather than an alarm clock. I just can’t deal with bells anymore.
I’ve been like this since college and Dr. Mitchell. My parents weren’t able to bankroll me, so I put myself through college. I was exceptionally poor. One semester, I lived almost entirely on sunflower seeds. I managed to get a raise at my job just in time to avoid ricketts. I would’ve been the first non-pirate in 150 years to suffer that fate. You get the point though: I was broke as hell.
I did something really stupid. My college actually paid volunteers for experiments done by the Psychology Department. I know that it’s like some crazy thing that you see in a movie, but they actually did it. I signed up. I should’ve known better, but I didn’t. I was young, I trusted people, and figured that these people ethically have to look out for you. I’m sure that most do, but Dr. Mitchell sure didn’t.
The first few studies were really minor, simple experiments. The money was so easy that it almost felt like stealing. They’d pay me twenty-five dollars an hour to answer questions and interpret ink blots. I was lulled into complacency. Then Dr. Mitchell recruited me for a study. It would be my last.
Dr. Mitchell’s experiment was odd and disquieting. Mitchell conditioned me to respond to a series of bells. It was essentially like what Pavlov had done, but with people. I stopped going back after one particularly disturbing incident. I think that I knew, on some level anyway, that he was trying to hypnotize me. I definitely knew that the danger of that was there. I didn’t want to acknowledge it to myself though because I needed the money and thought that it was ultimately harmless.
I should’ve quit. I really should have. I dropped out after my friend Carl told me that he woke up and the doctor was running his fingers along his inner thigh. Dr. Mitchell had put him under and removed his pants. Anyway, it didn’t matter how much I needed the money; I wasn’t going to let some creepy molester hypnotize me.
Carl reported Dr. Mitchell to the police. During the course of the police investigation, Carl ended up uncovering more things that Dr. Mitchell had done to him. He went to a regression therapist who used hypnosis to help Carl uncover the repressed memories. It turned Carl into a basket case. He always insisted later that he would’ve been better off not knowing. Carl developed all kinds of problems because of it. His memories came back slowly at first and then in a torrential fashion. He even recovered sense memories. He couldn’t eat anything with peanuts in it anymore; it made him throw up.
The police discovered that Carl wasn’t alone. Dr. Mitchell had molested or raped at least forty-seven students and I was among them. The university pressured me to go to Carl’s therapist and I caved eventually. The therapist helped me uncover horrible and terrible things that I really don’t like to even think about.
Dr. Mitchell was eventually charged and tried on dozens of counts of sexual assault and related things. He never went to jail though. He acted really erratically during the trial. There were a lot of rumors that he was losing his mind. He stopped bathing and changing his clothes. He began wearing slippers and a bathrobe all the time. He even wore them to court. I had a friend who claimed to have seen him sitting in the park dressed as a duck. I don’t know if I believe that or not; it seems a little too sensational. His lawyer tried an insanity plea but fell short. He never showed up on the day that the verdict was announced. He had disappeared. There was a manhunt, but the police never found any sign of him.
Now as I lie here blindfolded, gagged, and handcuffed to a chair, I can’t help but remember two of the last things that I noticed: the bell and the putrid smell of urine and peanuts. I can’t help but think that the disheveled man was Dr. Mitchell.
I jump with a start as I hear the sound of a door closing behind me and the heavy footfalls of a man approaching me. I’m shaking as I plead with him to let me go. He rings a bell.
I wake up to a bell ringing once more. I’m standing. The blindfold, gag, and handcuffs are still on. My hands are alternating between numbness and intense pain. My wrists are beginning to swell. I can hear a man breathing behind me. He smells horrid; I’m immediately alert. I realize that the smell is urine and peanuts and my heart sinks. He takes off my blindfold. I’m standing in front of a mirror wearing a wedding dress. Dr. Mitchell smiles menacingly. I begin to cry.
April 27, 2008
Lost In Thought
Posted by fred1979 under Flash Fiction | Tags: conversation, creative, dialogue, excessive tagging, fiction, flash, lost, lost in thought, portuguese, process, speak, thought, writing |1 Comment
“Lost In Thought”
“Yeah, he’s learning Portuguese from this site he found on the internet. It’s called learnportuguesereallyquick.info or something like that.”
“Really? That’s impressive. What have you learned to say son?”
“Poderia ajudar-me com a minha bagagem?”
“Well, I’ll be! What’s that mean?”
His mother looked puzzled. “Johnny, what’s that one mean again?”
“It means ‘could you help me with my luggage?’”
The man looked at the boy incredulously. “How old are you son?”
“I’m seven. I’ll be eight next summer.”
The boy’s mother beamed. She was obviously quite proud. I watched this all from a booth in a greasy little diner just off the highway. I was waiting on someone. The words of the man, the boy (Johnny, I gather), and Johnny’s mother all began to sound more and more distant as my mind wandered. I was thinking about how cool it would be to learn Portuguese. I made plans to check out the site that they mentioned. I even took out my notebook and wrote down the name.
I looked down at my watch. It was 1:30. She was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago. This wasn’t unlike her though. I sat and waited; my mind drifted a little further. A whole world unveiled itself to me. I would begin by learning Portuguese. I’d change my name to Frederico and move to Lisbon. I think that it’s hot there. I’m not sure. I made a note in my book to check.
Looking at my watch, I discovered that it was 1:32. This could end up being a long one. She’s good for one of those once in a while.
I began to drift again. This new man Frederico would need an apartment. Perhaps it could be by the sea? Is there a sea there? I thought that there was. It made it to the book. Anyway, so Frederico lives by the sea, speaks Portuguese, and … works as a fisherman on a small boat that leaves every morning at four. Frederico’s small boat was named ‘Maiden do mar’. The ‘Maiden of the Sea’ was an old boat; the paint was peeling off and most of the nets had holes in them. You can’t take your shoes off while you’re onboard because you’ll get splinters in your feet; the floorboards are rough and careworn. The crew is small and haggard. They love the ‘Maiden do mar’ blindly; oblivious to its obvious faults. Frederico was among their number.
Frederico had worked hard to prove himself on this boat. He was even accepted by the old-timers now. They had given Frederico a hard time at first. Who could blame them? Frederico had never been a fisherman before his arrival at the ‘Maiden do mar’. He wasn’t even Portuguese. He spoke the language well, but his accent was horrible. Maria had helped with this. Maria was the daughter of one of the old men. Frederico had met her when he first came aboard. She was beautiful.
“Lost in thought?”, Mary asked as she walked up to the booth.
“Huh? What? Oh yeah, I guess that I was.”
April 15, 2008
“Steve Gets To Be The Hero”
Posted by fred1979 under Flash Fiction | Tags: fiction, Flash Fiction, humor, short story, writing |No Comments
Prompt: Write a scene in which the dramatic tension revolves around a misspelling: a road sign, the name on a birthday cake, the directions to a doctor’s office, a word in a spelling bee…
“Steve Gets To Be The Hero”
Steve was the day manager at the Shady Pines Motel. He’d been busy all morning. It was always busy in the springtime. People came from far and wide to see the Great Garmont and spring was the time to do it. Steve was having a rough day. Verne, from the evening shift had already called in and Steve was going to have to work his shift. The phone rang. Steve picked it up.
“Shady Pines Motel, Steve speaking.”
“Hi Steve. My name is Special Agent Roger Mills. I’m with the FBI.”
“Hello Agent Mills. Do you need a room? How may I help you?”
“We’ve just received word that you have a reservation tonight for a man named David Smith. That’s S-M-I-T-H. Can you confirm that for me?”
“Let me just check the book.”
“Sure thing.”
“Yep. Here it is. He’s staying two nights beginning tonight.”
“Excellent. What time is check-in there?”
“It’s at three o’clock.”
“Outstanding. OK. Steve was it?”
“Yep.”
“Will you be on until five?”
“Yep. Verne called in sick. I’ll be here until eleven tonight.”
“OK Steve, the United States government needs a favor from you. It’s not dangerous, and I need you to listen closely.”
“What can I do for you Agent Mills?”
“It’s not just me … never mind. Anyway, the FBI has been searching for David Smith. I can’t tell you what he did at this point, but I can tell you that he’s not wanted for a violent crime.”
“A criminal? Staying here? Why can’t you tell me what he did?”
“It’s an ongoing investigation and I’m not allowed to talk about it.”
“Well … what is it that you want me to do?”
“The FBI doesn’t have any field offices in the area that you’re located in. I’m going to have to fly out there, and I expect to be there in eight hours. The problem is that Smith may arrive at three and since it’s nine now … I probably can’t get there until five. I just need you to keep an eye on Smith. Give him any excuse that you can to keep him in the hotel until I get there. And DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT act like you know who he is. I don’t want him to get spooked and run off. Can I count on you Steve?”
“Well … I don’t know. It sounds like it could be dangerous.”
“Steve … we’re really counting on you here. It’ll be easy. You just have to make sure that he stays put.”
“I guess that I could do that.”
“OK then Steve. Thank you. I’ll see you around five, and remember Steve … DO NOT let him get away.”
Steve hung up the phone. He was worried. How was he going to keep this guy in the hotel? How would he deal with it if this guy figured out what was going on and reacted violently? He wasn’t really sure what to do. He decided to call Ted. Ted answered promptly on the twelfth ring as usual.
“Hello.”
“Hey Ted. It’s Steve. What’s going on?”
“Not much. Watchin’ Springer.”
“OK. Hey Ted, I’ve got a problem.”
“What’s that?”
“I just got a call from a man at the FBI. They’re looking for someone that’s going to check in here today. Name’s Dave Smith.”
“What’d he do?”
“The guy wouldn’t tell me. Gave me some bullshit about it being an ongoing investigation and all. I have no idea. He needs me to make sure that the guy doesn’t leave before they get here.”
“They want you to hold onto this guy for them and they won’t tell you what they want with him?”
“Yep.”
“That’s just terrible right there.”
“I know. They said that he wasn’t violent, but how am I supposed to know if he was telling me the truth? The guy is wanted by the FBI after all.”
“How long between when he gets there and when the FBI gets there?”
“Two hours. The corpse-fucker or whatever he is should be here about three. The FBI should be here about five.”
“Hold on. I’ve got some ideas of ways that we can deal with this. I’ll be over around two.”
Steve hung up the phone and tried to go on about his business. Five o’clock could not come fast enough. He got back to folding towels and tried to take his mind off of it.
********************
Ted walked in the door at three minutes past two. He had a bag slung over his right shoulder. Steve was helping a customer but he gestured Ted into the back room. Steve finished dealing with the man and joined Ted in the back room after a few minutes. He immediately noticed that Ted had placed a bunch of items on the desk.
“What’s all that Ted?”
“I’ve got some stuff to help keep this guy here until the FBI gets here.”
“Rope Ted? Really? And is that a club?”
“Yeah. I figure that once he comes up to the desk, I’ll sneak behind him and WHACK him with the club. Then, we can use the rope to tie him up. We’ll hide him back here until Mr. FBI comes to get his package.”
“OK, just noticed something Ted and I have to ask about it. Let’s say that I go along with this crazy plan … what do we do with the TAZER that you forgot to mention there?”
“The TAZER is a backup. It’s only in case something goes wrong.”
“Well what could possibly go wrong Ted? It’s a great plan that you’ve got there,” Steve said sarcastically.
Just then, Steve heard the bell. He had a customer. He told Ted that he’d be right back and went to the counter.
“Hello sir. Can I help you?”
“Yes, my name is David Smith. I have a reservation.”
“Oh yes sir. Let me just check the book.”
“Thanks. I can’t wait to take a nap. I’ve been on the road all day.”
“I’ll bet. Here you are. Staying two nights?”
“Yes. I’m in town to see the Great Gar ….”
Dave’s sentence died in the middle when Ted hit him on the back of the head with the club. Steve was furious.
“Ted! What the fuck? We never agreed to that. You can’t just go around thumping people over the head because you feel like it.”
“Feel like it my ass Steve. That guy’s a criminal. What were we supposed to do?”
“How about ‘let him sleep’? The guy was tired. He was going on about taking a nap. I wouldn’t have had to do anything to keep him here.”
“So he said.”
“Whatever Ted. You’re an asshole. Where the hell did you come from anyway? I didn’t even see you before you popped up behind him and hit him.”
“I went out the window.”
“You went out the window?”
“Yeah, I heard him say that his name was Smith and I went out the window. I came around the front of the building and climbed into the window in the bathroom over here. Then, I crawled across the floor …”
Steve cut him off. “Stop Ted! I really don’t want to hear anymore.”
“Sure thing Steve. Just call Ted to fix your problem and then don’t even thank him when he does.”
“Oh thanks a lot … really Ted. Now get the fuck out of here.”
“All right buddy. You want me to leave the TAZER in case he wakes up?”
“FUCK!”
“What?”
“OK Ted, no TAZER, but we do have to tie him up.”
“I thought you didn’t want to do that Steve?” Ted was mocking him.
“I didn’t, but I can’t let him get away. You think he’s going to stay if he wakes up Ted? How do I explain that, genius? Damn it!”
Ted and Steve tied him up and moved him into the office. Steve threw Ted out. Ted left grumbling. Steve hated when Ted did shit like this. Just last year, Ted tried to catch his neighbor’s dog with a bear trap; he had thought it was shitting on his lawn. Steve was just glad that none of his other incoming guests had shown up during that.
********************
Special Agent Roger Mills showed up at precisely five. Steve watched his shiny black sedan pull into the parking lot. It may not have gone perfectly, but Steve had managed to hang onto Mills’ man. He’d have to be happy about that at least. Mills opened the door and walked to the counter.
“Hello. Special Agent Roger Mills. Are you Steve?”
“Yep. I’m Steve. How was your trip?”
“It was OK. Did Smith show up?”
“Yeah. He got here about two and a half hours ago.”
“Excellent. Is he still in his room?”
“Well, he didn’t quite make it to his room.”
“Didn’t make it to his room? What are you talking about?”
“He’s in back.”
“He’s out back?”
“No, he’s in the office.”
“What the hell is he doing in the office?”
“He’s unconscious.”
“Why is he unconscious?”
“Ted hit him with a club.”
“Who the hell is Ted and WHY would he hit him with a club?”
“Ted’s a friend of mine, not a great friend, but a friend.”
“Any why did he knock him out?”
“Well, I was nervous about having him in the hotel so I called Ted for advice. Ted came over with a crazy plan to knock him out and tie him up.”
“You planned to knock him out?”
“No. Smith showed up while Ted was explaining it to me. Ted’s a little nuts. I went out to deal with Smith and Ted overheard and … went out the window, came around the building, crawled across the floor, and knocked your guy out with the club.”
“Is he insane? I … I don’t know what to say.”
“Ted? Yeah, he’s a little crazy. I didn’t know who else to call. All of my other friends work during the day.”
“You trusted your only friend that doesn’t work during the day for advice on handling a fugitive? That’s just … nevermind. Bring me to Smith.”
Steve motioned for Mills to follow him. They walked into the office where Smith was lying, unconscious and bound on the floor. His arms were tied behind his back. His feet were tied together. He had duct tape on his mouth. Steve looked at Mills and Mills stared back in open-mouthed horror.
“Who the fuck is that?”
“Who is who? I don’t follow, Agent Mills.”
“On the floor … nearly hog-tied. Who the fuck is that?”
“It’s David Smith. The man you asked me to detain.”
“First of all, I didn’t ask you to detain him. I asked you to keep him in the hotel. Detention is a totally different thing. It’s kind of like this, but less third-world.”
“I …”
“Secondly, you astounding idiot, this ISN’T DAVID SMITH.”
“What do you mean? It’s David Smith. He checked in. He said that his name was David Smith. You called about him. This is the guy that you wanted.”
“No, it’s not. THIS ISN’T THE GUY.”
Special Agent Mills reached down into the man’s pocket and pulled out his wallet. He pulled out his license.
“This man is David Smyth with a fucking ‘Y’ you moron.”
“Yeah, David Smith. S-M-Y-T-H. I remember from when you called.”
“No Cletus, clean out your fucking ears. It’s ‘I’ not ‘Y’. Jesus!”
“Oh man. What are we going to do?”
“We aren’t doing anything. You’re an idiot. I’m going to go off and begin my crusade against inbreeding.”
Steve looked down at the floor. He had nothing to say in his defense. “What should I do then?”
“You should get a good lawyer and PRAY that this man doesn’t sue you or kill you. I’m leaving. You’ve wasted enough of my time.”
Special Agent Roger Mills walked out of the office. Steve reached for the phone. He was calling a friend to get some advice.
April 14, 2008
Prompt: The only thing that I ever wanted was ____________.
“Pie and Mortal Kombat”
It was certainly time to do something about this. Peggy and I would just have to talk him out of it. I don’t think we really had a choice at this point. It had gone too far. We went into his room. Peggy spoke first.
“Hey Barry. You got a second?”
“Sure thing Mom.”
I looked at my boy and said: “Son, we love you. We have to talk to you about this circus thing.”
“Look Dad, I know what you’re…”
Peggy interrupted with “Please just hear us out.”
Barry sighed, rolled his eyes disgustedly, and said: “Fine.”
I decided to start.
“Barry, when I was a kid, the only thing that I ever wanted was pie. It was an obsession really. Apple, raspberry, strawberry; it didn’t matter as long as it was pie. I also wanted to beat the hell out of all of my friends in Mortal Kombat. So … it wasn’t all about pie, but I think the point stands: everything is much simpler when you’re young.”
Peggy looked at me like I was deranged or mentally handicapped or something. Barry noticed it and smiled. I continued.
“Lots of things have happened between then and now. I graduated high school and then college. I ran for mayor. I’ve told you about that before right? It was just a crazy thing I did. I think I was just scared of actually having to get a job. But anyway, I met some girls and even fell in love with one of them.” Peggy smiled at this. I went on. “We got married and bought a house. We had you.”
“You see … the point is that I was searching as we all search. We all try to find out who we are and what we’ll be. It’s a fairly universal path that life takes us all on. The idea is to search without making your life a gigantic disaster in the long run. That’s why your mother and I are concerned about you lately kid. You can’t just run away with the circus. It’s not a reasonable thing to do. We understand if you want join a band or try to be an actor or hell … even run for mayor. Those are all things that won’t ruin your life. You’re not going to find yourself thrown off of a train in Skokie, Oklahoma with no money in your pocket or education to speak of because you ran for mayor. Backpack across Europe if you have to. Protest the war. I’m not telling you what to do; I’m just saying that there are a lot of things that you could do that don’t involve sharing a straw bed with a filthy camel.”
Peggy looked a bit more impressed with the point I was trying to put on the matter. Barry had likely stopped listening at Mortal Kombat. I decided to press on.
“What are you looking to get out of this son?”
“I’ve always wanted to be a clown. The circus is the largest stage for clowns. I’ll get a chance to work my way up.”
I had to find a way into his mind. “But what Barry … makes you want to be a clown? Have you ever considered the future? How much of one is there in clowning? You’re very intelligent. You could be a lawyer, a doctor, or anything really that you wanted to be.”
“You guys don’t get it. I love everything about the idea of being a clown. I love the makeup. I love the costume. I love the looks on the faces of the people watching you.”
“Barry, you played a clown once … at a school fundraiser. It’s not exactly a good basis for life-changing decisions.”
“Dad, people love clowns. I love clowns. I just want to make people happy.”
“Barry … I don’t know how to tell you this, but many people don’t like clowns. There have been studies done on it for crying out loud.”
“Mom, do you understand?”
“Honey, your father’s right. Many people dislike clowns.”
I interjected:”I’m sorry that I said that Bar. I’ve seen the numbers. I didn’t lie about it, but it’s not really the point. Have you considered working as a party clown on the weekends while you go to college?”
“Dad, party clowning is the worst. Everyone does hate those people. They work alone. They perform to people that aren’t out to see clowns. It’s the toughest way to go. And for what really? If I work really hard then I can be the best low-rent party clown in the history of party clownery or however you say it. I’m not doing that. I want to be a clown and the circus is where it’s at.”
I sat back and thought about it. Peggy and I would have to talk about this. We excused ourselves and went out to the kitchen.
“What do you make of this Peg?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea what to say. I can’t believe that he’d choose to throw his life away.”
I stopped to consider this for a moment.
“Is he really throwing his life away? I mean … I certainly don’t get it and you don’t seem to either, but Barry seems to be stuck on this.”
“I don’t know Peter. He wants to be a clown. Why did we make him go to school or do homework? He plans to spend the rest of his life taking pies in his face.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing though. It’s his life. We raised him well. He knows what he wants or at least he thinks he does. It’s not what we expected or hoped for, but if it makes him happy … then we should support him. Right?”
“But the circus Peter! The smelly, filthy circus! Why?”
“Oddly, that part actually made some sense to me in the end. He thought it through. You want to be a doctor … you go to medical school. You want to be a clown … you join the circus. I’m proud of him … in some way.”
We went back and forth like this for nearly an hour. In the end, Peggy agreed with me. She didn’t like it, but she agreed. If Barry wanted to be a clown then we had to accept that and support him. If it didn’t work out in the end, then at least he tried and we were behind him. He could always do something else. He had a lot of options. We knocked on his door and walked in.
I began. “Barry, your mother and I talked about it. We support you. If you want to give the clown thing a shot for a while then we’re behind you.”
Barry looked confused. “You are?”
“Yes. You are our son, but you’re becoming a man and it’s time that you began running your own life. You should give this a shot.”
Barry looked more puzzled than ever. “I have no idea what’s going on here. Mom? Dad? Have you been replaced by alien invaders or something? I don’t want to become a clown. That’s a ridiculous goddamn idea. I just wanted an H2 and I thought you might offer to buy me one to not ruin my life. Jesus. You people are weirdoes. Honestly! A clown. What the hell is wrong with you people? I’m not sleeping on a train. I’m going to college.”
In the end, we bought the boy his absurd SUV. Did it negatively reinforce his bad behavior? Perhaps, but mostly we were just glad that he wasn’t going to run away with the circus.
April 13, 2008
Prompt: For sale: Baby shoes, never worn. From Ernest Hemingway, more on the story here.
“Tom Finds and Loses His Way”
Tom was a friend of mine. I’d known him for a long time. He was a lot of fun. He wasn’t the kind of guy though, that you counted on. Tom wouldn’t help you move, you couldn’t count on his advice, and he wasn’t the kind of guy that would bring out the best in you. I don’t put it this way because I want you to think badly of him. I just want you to understand. Tom was a great guy to hang out with, but not a great man.
Tom dated Magdalena for about three months. I remember when they met. Tom and I were in a bar on a Tuesday afternoon. It was oddly bright as the sun shone through the darkened windows. There were only four people in the bar. Tom and I were joined by an old man in a mesh baseball hat and a flannel jacket and Magdalena. We saw her at the far end of the bar as soon as we walked in. She was striking with long black her and dark eyes. There was a sadness in her; it wasn’t specific, but you could see it. She sat alone idly downing drink after drink. Her pace shocked even Tom and I who were used to heavy drinking and being in a bar at one in the afternoon on a Tuesday.
Tom sent a drink down the bar to her. She downed it in one gulp without looking in our direction. Tom sent another and she did the same again. Tom approached her after the third round. They talked, I’m not quite sure about what, but they connected. They became fairly inseparable in the next few weeks. I saw a lot of her too. She was nice. I liked her too. She seemed to make Tom happy.
It all ended after three months when Magdalena told Tom that she was pregnant.
Tom raged, “How can you be pregnant?”
“Do you really need help figuring that out sport?”
“Very funny smartass. I don’t know what you want me to do about it.”
“Well Tom, sometimes when a man loves a woman … they have drunken unprotected sex like irresponsible animals in heat scratching and clawing their way to life-altering change.”
“You’re a fucking riot. Thinking of taking this on the road?”
“Do you really think that I’m happy about this?”
“I don’t know what to think Magdalena. I just can’t deal with this.”
“You can’t deal with this? Any babies growing in your uterus Tom?”
“Fuck this. I’m out of here.” Tom turned and left.
Tom spent the next few months trying to pretend that it hadn’t happened. I broke the pattern that normally colored our relationship and actually implored him to do the right thing. He wouldn’t even respond; he acted like he hadn’t even heard. If I hadn’t known Tom, I would’ve thought that the situation bothered me more than it did him. I reached out to Magdalena and got nowhere. She wouldn’t even talk to me.
About six months later, Tom needed a new pair of shoes. We had this wild night out all over the town. Towards the end of it, we were being chased through the park by the police (and let me tell you … that’s a whole other story of its own) when Tom ran through some deep mud and came out one sneaker short. Tom went to a shoe store the next day. He picked up a new pair of white and red tennis shoes. He spotted the baby version of same pair as he was walking to the register to pay for them. He walked over and picked them up. Something inside him woke up, and he realized at once that he’d made a mistake with Magdalena. He loved Magdalena. He loved his baby. He was just scared. He carried his new shoes to the counter and bought a pair for the baby too.
He left the store resolved to become someone that he’d never been. He was going to be responsible. He was going to get himself together. He had no choice as he was going to be someone’s father. Tom hopped into a cab and told the driver Magdalena’s address. The cab driver took him there straight away.
When he arrived at the house, there was a party going on. Music flooded into the street followed by the sounds of yelled conversation and frantic laughter. Confused, Tom decided to make his way through the throngs of people streaming in and out to find Magdalena. He finally found her in the kitchen talking with a man that Tom had never seen before. It looked to him like they knew each other well. She looked at him.
“What are you doing here Tom? Need another tutorial on the female reproductive system?”
“No Magdalena. I need to talk to you.”
“What is there possibly to talk about Tom? You left. Remember? You left me in the lurch.”
Everyone else filtered out of the kitchen. Tom and Magdalena were alone.
“I was an asshole Magdalena. I was just … being an ass. I was shopping for shoes today and I realized it. I don’t know what to say to make this better. I love you. I miss you. I want to be a part of this baby’s life.”
“Baby? You want to be a part of our baby’s life Tom?”
“Yes. I do. I fucked up and I’m sorry and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to the two of you.”
“It’s too late Tom. I can’t make yesterday go away; it already happened.”
“What do you mean ‘it’s too late’?”
“Are you an idiot? I had an abortion. Do you know how hard it would’ve been to have a baby with you? … if you were on board. But you weren’t. So I did what I had to.”
“Sorry. “
Tom turned and walked away feeling worse than he ever had. There was no feeling worse, in his mind, than losing something that you could’ve had right after you realized that you wanted it. His left hand clutched a bag full of recently useless sneakers. He hopped into a cab and rode off into the night.
April 13, 2008
“Pants on Fire”
“There’s no point in even doing this if you’re going to act like that,” Ace said as he lit a cigarette.
“I’m just saying that she’s a liar and I don’t think that I should just sit there and nod my head and make her think that I’m buying into her nonsense,” Regina said rolling down her window.
“You want to be her friend right?”
“I don’t know. I might just think that I want to be her friend. She’s full of shit.”
Ace exhaled deeply. “You know that she has a disease.”
“Well, that doesn’t make it any easier to take. She lies constantly. It’s always been this way, but lately it’s getting worse,” Regina said as she turned her head to look out the window.
“How did you manage to stay friends with her through college?”
“It was college. It was easy. I was fucked up half the time anyway and she was my roommate. It’s simple to get along with someone if you have to,” Regina rolled her eyes and continued. “I think that this might be exactly what it is. I think that it was easy to be friends with her in college and now I feel like I have to because she’s “sick” and there hasn’t been any good reason to stop being her friend … so here we are.”
Ace looked at her and smirked. “Maybe it will be fun. You’ll never know unless we go.”
“Ace, seriously? Last week she told me that her brother died in a fire. I work with her brother. I just saw him two hours ago.”
“She’s ill. You know this. I’m not trying to force you to go. I’m just playing devil’s advocate because I know that you’ll feel bad later if we don’t. Besides, maybe it was a different brother,” he said with a smirk.
“She only has one brother Ace. You want to know the fucked up part? I only know that because I’ve met her mom. Yeah, up until that day she had always told me that she was an only child. She even wore a necklace with a stupid only child charm on it. Who the hell lies about a relative dying in a fire? That’s horrible.”
“You know who does that? Sick people. She’s a sick people and you know this.”
“Whatever. Let’s just go and get this over with. You’re right; I’ll feel like shit if we don’t.”
“We’ll be there shortly Miss Daisy,” he said as he held back a laugh and doffed his imaginary cap.
They pulled up in front of Miko’s house. The two-story house had a huge porch and a small patch of grass in the front; it was the illusion of a front lawn. Ace and Regina sat in the car for a minute.
“You see what I mean? It’s like she has bullshit built into everything that she is. Look at that porch,” Regina said.
“It’s a rather nice porch. It’s roomy. You could put some chairs out there and relax in the summertime with a lemonade.”
“It’s deceptively large. Her apartment is only four rooms and you’d expect a porch that size to be on William Shatner’s house or something.”
“You’re reading far too deep into this,” Ace said.
They finally got out of the car and walked up the steps. “This is a nice porch,” Ace muttered and chuckled as they stood in front of the door. The look in Regina’s eye told him that she didn’t really find it funny. Regina rang the second doorbell. Ten seconds later, they were face to face with Miko.
“Hi,” Miko said. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you two. I wish that I had known that you were coming. We could’ve made a whole thing out of it.”
Regina looked at Ace; Ace looked at Regina. Ten seconds passed silently.
Regina decided to break the silence. “Miko, we talked earlier. You asked me to come over.”
Miko affected an air of confusion. “No, I didn’t. You’re here though so come on in.”
“We can do it another time if that’s better,” Ace said sheepishly.
“No. Don’t be silly. Besides, all of this food will go to waste without anyone to eat it.”
Miko turned and walked up the stairs. Ace could see that Regina was boiling mad. She had a look on her face that screamed “this is soo just like her”. Ace held her hand. They followed her up the stairs. The kitchen was at the top of the stairs. As they passed the kitchen table, Regina looked over and couldn’t help but notice that there were three plates on the table.
Miko led them into the living room. She went into the kitchen to finish dinner. It was a rather small apartment. Ace looked around.
“Miko,” he called out into the kitchen. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you in quite some time.”
“I’ve been good ever since the cancer,” was her reply.
“I didn’t know that you had cancer. That’s horrible.” Ace looked at Regina. She looked like she wanted to kick her and hard.
“Yeah, breast cancer. They froze it out though.”
“They froze it out? Wow, that’s some doctor that you have.”
Ace looked at Regina. Regina looked back. Instantly, she deadpanned “it’s a good thing that the doctor just happened to have popsicles around. We wouldn’t be here tonight without them. Fucking Dr. Good Humor.”
Miko yelled out “Sorry, didn’t catch that last part? What’s up?”
“Nothing. Nothing,” was Ace’s reply.
“This is almost done. I’ll be setting the table in a moment.”
“Sounds good, Miko. We can’t wait.”
Regina shot daggers at Ace. “Why? How can you play along with this bullshit like it has any truth to it? She pretended to have cancer that a doctor froze off with a fucking fudgesicle. She’s a sociopath.”
Ace looked at Regina and shrugged. “What else can I do? Calling her on it doesn’t change anything. I’m not looking for parenting advice or stock tips from her. She doesn’t necessarily have to tell me the truth. In the end, the result is the same. Oh yeah, and because she’s clearly mentally ill.”
Miko entered the living room. “I hope that you guys are hungry. It’s time to eat. I worked really hard on this. I hope that you like it.”
Ace and Regina followed her into the kitchen and sat down. There was a carafe of wine in the center of the table. Around it sat three plates. Each had a Hot Pocket on it. Regina rolled her eyes. They sat down.
Ace spoke first. “So Miko, dinner looks good.”
“Thanks. I really like to cook. Sure, it takes a long time to make something like this, but I think that it’s worth it. In the end, it’s healthier for you too.”
Regina was visibly irritated by the latest set of developments. Miko reached for the carafe of wine. “Regina, would you like some wine? You look like you could use a drink.”
Regina replied “sure” in a manner that betrayed her irritation.
“I really hope that you like this wine. It came from my family’s vineyard. I grew up there. We’ve been making wine for nearly 150 years.” Miko smiled as she said this. It was a smile that you could see radiating throughout her entire body.
Regina loved this latest development. “Miko, I’ve been to your family’s house. It’s not a vineyard. You don’t come from a long line of grape growers. I don’t know how you think that you could tell me that.”
Miko looked hurt. “I think that you’re confusing me with someone else. My family makes wine. They make great wine.”
“You look like you could use a drink,” Regina said and with that rose out of her chair and dumped the entire carafe of the red wine of legends over Miko’s head. “You’re fucking crazy. I’m leaving.”
Regina turned and walked out the door. Ace sat at the table trying to figure out if there was anything that even resembled a graceful exit to be had in this situation. Miko sat in her chair crying with wine running down her face. Ace got up and ran towards the door and down the stairs.
Regina sat in the car. She was seething. She watched as Ace came down the stairs behind her. He sat down beside her.
“So… that went well,” Ace said with a grin. “You lasted much longer than I expected you to. She’s a crazy, crazy woman.”
“I can’t believe that I did that. That wasn’t called for. I just get so pissed at her. She’s unbelievable.”
“I know. I really wasn’t trying to push you earlier. I just didn’t want you to feel like you do now.”
“Yeah. I know. I’m sorry that I make you do things like that. I know just as well as you do that I’d be upset with myself for blowing her off. The really ironic thing is that we didn’t and now I’m upset with myself for different and very obvious reasons.”
“She’s a lot to take. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Ace pulled away from the curb and began the drive home. Regina was glum. She stared out the window until an idea came to her.
“I know exactly how to handle this,” she said.
Ace was afraid to ask. He found a way. “What’s up?”
Regina reached into her bag and pulled out her cell phone. She dialed and listened for Miko to pick up on the other end.
“Hi Miko. It’s Regina. How are you?”
“Regina? I thought that you hated me. I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”
“What?”
“You dumped a carafe of wine over my head,” Miko intoned into the phone. It was obvious that she was upset about it.
“No I didn’t.”
“You did. You did it just now … at my house.”
“Sweetie, are you feeling ok? I haven’t seen you in three months.”
“You were just here for dinner. Ace was with you.”
Regina affected a teary tone and replied “Miko, you know that Ace died six months ago. You were at the funeral. Look, I’ve got to go. Call me tomorrow after you’ve had some rest.”
