Friday, October 6, 2017

Mini-fridge

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

The two men wheeled the mini-fridge into the coffee shop and asked where it should go.

A young Asian man, the owner, directed them to a seemingly unreachable spot behind the counter.

The two men looked at each other and chuckled. ‘You figure it out,’ one of them responded.

Displeased, the owner subtly uttered three words, ‘Do your job.’

The men immediately lifted the unit onto the counter.

The owner persisted, ‘Finish your job.’

They stomped behind the counter, lowered the box onto the ground, and maneuvered it into place.

The owner concluded, ‘You may go.’

They marched out.

The owner turned to me and smiled. ‘You will write about this.’

Thursday, October 5, 2017

Magic

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

With his birthday celebrations ended, he chose to spend a day alone in Brooklyn.
He would visit Catland, a metaphysical shop, and Roberta’s, a pizza place.


He stepped into Catland expecting to feel magic.
There was no magic, just old comics and phallic candles.
He scurried away.


He entered Roberta’s wanting to order a slice.
There were no slices, just something pizza-like.
He took two and left.


He proceeded to a park hoping to sit and eat.
There was no park, just a baseball field under construction.
He opened the gate and sat in a dugout.


He sighed, then chuckled.

Magic exists within each of the moments that comprise a life.

Friday, June 30, 2017

Lazy Day

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

I wake.

It is early and there is no sun.

I pray and do twenty-two pushups in memory of a friend and stretch and write and read aloud to myself an excerpt from Satchmo.

The forty-nine square mile map gazes up at me in miniature begging me to choose some part of its peninsular tip.

I savor a lackluster sandwich and the outdoor seating at a local establishment known for its fruit.

The hill climbs ahead of me bellowing its laughter up into the wind while my bald head burns beneath cooling perspiration.

I arrive after wandering circuitous paths, all in service of the destination.

The return is uneventful.

I sleep.