White 501s_Something Nice_More? More Coffee?_39 at Last
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White 501s
White 501sTheir surf boards hang out car’s rear window, just slightly. Like a signal they are headed up this coast to surf. An insignia marking this group as part of larger tribe. Sometimes exhaust fumes are a little hard to take, especially when this old car, they’ve named Henry, struggles up a big hill. To prevent Henry having an engine failure, boys stopped frequently, let his engine cool and kept themselves awake. Radio would work, mostly, since Troy rigged up a coat-hanger aerial, formed into girly hip shape. Occasionally catching items like the price of various crops and grazing animals...
Something Nice
“Cooler?”“Check.”“Music?”“Check.”“Snacks?”“What?”“Do we have snacks?”“Yeah. Check.”“Great! Let’s go!”My sister and I planned this road trip six months ago. That’s a commitment you can’t raincheck, so I grin and navigate like Sacagawea.“What do you want to listen to?”“Whatever.”With the music of the mid-2000s now playing, I’m transported back to when boys didn’t matter, and monogamy was subtly preached to ten-year-old me. Thanks, Disney. Now, I sit on my hands, never wishing I engaged with feminist literature. I like to think life would have been easier believing in the sanctity of marriage. T...
More? More Coffee?
I’M NOT GOING in the front. I’ll just wait here until someone comes out. The door swung open. “Hi Jessica. You back?” Ronny said, the dinner-hour, salad-prep guy. She answered him by only shrugging her shoulders--she didn’t know. She had a hunch she’d know where he was. Now in the kitchen of “Mio Amico” restaurant, she headed to the little staff lunchroom. There was Reed, her manager, sitting at the back table, alone in front of a pile of dirty dishes, scrubbing through his iPhone. Jessica sat down. He looked up, when he recognized her the edges of his mouth pinched, then frowned. He said noth...
39 at Last
Ellen settled onto the picnic bench and adjusted her skirt, glancing towards the children who scampered over the nearby playground. She was not much different than she had been twenty years earlier. A few more lines in brow and cheeks, a closer likeness to her mother, but the same hazel-green eyes which could slip from sparkling to contemplative in a moment. That very transformation took place now as she lwww.onedoor.ccooked up and saw a man of about her own age sauntering towards her. He was of average height and wiry build, with fluffy dark hair and a perpetual smirk. Their eyes met, and an answering smir...