The Complicated Morality of Application Fees_God’s Conveyor Belt_Scotty Beam Mich Hoch, Part Deux_Dr
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The Complicated Morality of Application Fees
Julianna always thought of herself as a kind, generous person, and she never intended to own and run an apartment complex. But, when she inherited the place from her father, who she knew was a horrible miserly man, she just didn’t have the heart to sell the place. She just couldn’t think of what would happen to those poor tenants. Also, she thoroughly enjoyed the income. It allowed her to quit her awful receptionist job and focus full time on her art. Since acquiring the place, she actually hadn’t spent much time on her art, but that is completely beside the point.Anyways, it seemed to be jus...
God’s Conveyor Belt
He wouldn’t always have the boys move the bags in the dead of night. Secrecy wasn’t a part of it. But they were under the full moon tonight, lugging black industrial trash bags down to the river. All because the old man had had a fit about the condition of his house. He couldn’t take the sight of the forest he’d created in his kitchen and living room. An entire ecosystem really, where beer bottles and cans are the trees, crowding tabletops and counter space, and stained paper plates the fewww.onedoor.ccrn and undergrowth. Fruit flies the swooping birds of prey, landing on meat gristle and drowning in steak...
Scotty Beam Mich Hoch, Part Deux
Nestor, now sober, crossed under the spotlight and tapped his hands on the podium, trying not to make eye contact with the packed auditorium. “Dim the lights. Thank you. It’s not that I have an aversion to public speaking, I just feel better if I don’t see all those eyes on me. Now, all you sitting there in the dark. I could rave like always. I could give you all the schtick you expect from me. I could spew platitudes about how our penal system began in Salem, or our policing started the first time a plantation hand chased after a runaway slave, or remind you that we are the only country in t...
Dream of Senegal
Friday, January 26, 2007, Fatoumata, a 23-year-old Senegalese woman was sitting across from Alexander, a 47-year-old American of Scots-Irish and English descent, just two strangers sitting across from each other in a crowded metro train in Paris, line No. 5, direction Bobigny/Pablo Picasso, both were just daily commuters. This day was like any other in any bustling city full of unfamiliar faces, and yet fate was about to come into play.Alexander was struck by the uncommon beauty of Fatoumata’s face, and was studying every line and curve, trying to imprint every detail in his memory to put on c...