Waiting for Mr Smith_Only A Ride Home From School_"Chester"_A Western Landscape
Catalog Guide:
Waiting for Mr Smith
Sensitive content warning: has themes of sudden loss, bereavement and mental health.There were three of them in Mr Smith’s outer office: Appleby (who had a gut feeling he had to see Mr Smith); Mrs Stuart (Mr Smith’s secretary, with a sharp nose, concrete hair and the absolute authority of those who are always right) and the pudgy boy with no name (Appleby hadn’t been paying attention).Mrs Stuart, in the manner of a queen graciously bestowing an undeserved favour, had informed Appleby the boy was Mr Smith’s son, but offered no further information. He looked about 6 years old and Appleby, as was...
Only A Ride Home From School
Warning: Sexual violence threats, crime, and foul language.The rain was pouring down in sheets and forming puddles across the gravel surface of the high school parking lot. A wet and humid afternoon. Rachel was sitting in the bus shelter in front of the school at the end of the day, waiting for her father to pick her upwww.onedoor.cc. This gave her some protection from the rain but the roof was leaking in places so she was confined to a small corner.A black, four-door Toyota pulled up in front. Wedged behind the steering wheel sat a heavy man in his mid-40’s with black hair and a trimmed beard. His appearan...
"Chester"
Chester Jameson was the janitor of my elementary and then high school. He was the man who I used to see early in the mornings outside raking the leaves and cleaning out the trash bins on a regular Monday, and then upon the scaffold washing the windows on a Friday evening. Every day it was the same thing. Over and over again.I think Chester had kids because I saw his wallet perched on a window sill this other day, and no one was around when I found it. I didn't know it was his until I opened it and I saw a picture of him and two smaller kids. A boy and a girl. It looked a little worn and had a ...
A Western Landscape
“Listen, you just don’t get it do you?” Werner leaned over to make his point. “She’s seeing someone else.” “Don’t say that.” I interrupted. We were driving, speeding really, northbound on the sinewy Angeles Crest Highway, before sunrise. Visibility? Foggy, so not much. “But it’s true.” Werner said. “No, I mean don’t say listen.” The tires screeched. I had the hi-beams on but still struggled to make out the road through the morning mist. “Don’t say listen,” I repeated, “especially if you’re going to say something stupid after, like you just don’t get it do you.” I put on what I thought was a st...