The Road Trip_Dear Dorothy_Tasty Tuesday_Mr. Pratt's Agent Provocateur
Catalog Guide:
The Road Trip
Mild foul languageIn a rare moment of reflection, the young woman occupying the passenger seat of my Toyota sedan turned to me, smiled wistfully, and said, “We’re running out of time.”It was the fourth of July holiday weekend, and all the nation’s fireworks exploded inside my head throughout my rollercoaster ride from Durham, North Carolina to Long Island, New York. I was en route to my hometown to visit relatives who I hadn’t seen in a decade.My trip began peacefully at 6pm on Thursday. I planned to drive three hours and seek refuge in Virginia when darkness fell.I expected to occupy the two-...
Dear Dorothy
Dear Dorothy,There’s so much I want to tell you, I feel like I could write a book.For starters, I’m a big fan. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been in awe of your big-screen adventures.When you ran from that awful Myra Gulch, I could feel my own heart pounding.When you sang so sweetly and so wistfully about feeling all alone and unprotected in a world of trouble, I could taste the tears on my cheek. I wanted to get away from it all too. I memorized the lyrics to every song on your traveling playlist and I sang along with every step you took.When you got caught up in the middle of a swirli...
Tasty Tuesday
“We’re running out of time!” Amy shouted, “Drive faster!”“I’m already going nine miles an hour over the speed limit,” Mark said. “I refuse to go any faster.”“But …www.onedoor.cc,” she said, sounding panicked.“If a state trooper stops us, we’ll certainly never make it so stop telling me to drive faster.”Mark couldn’t understand the urgency. It wasn’t as if this would be their first time. And so what if they didn’t make it tonight? There’s always tomorrow. Of course it wouldn’t be the same, but they would still be there. “We’re never going to make it in time,” Amy said, leaning toward Mark so she could peek a...
Mr. Pratt's Agent Provocateur
The audible click of a camera’s shutter release echoed loudly through the cold, dimly lit street of the rundown neighbourhood, surreptitiously hidden from most of the world in post-war East Berlin. It had been more than two years since the ruling Socialist Unity Party began constructing the piding wall, signalling the beginning of the Cold War that separated East against West with an iron curtain of secrecy. The government in West Berlin labelled it as ‘The Wall Of Shame,’ but that mattered not to the Eastern puppet government of the Soviet Union. The concrete barricades had not been cons...