Wednesday, March 31, 2010

The guards, bulky, masked, huge shouldered and three tones of black, boarded the train just outside Paris. They stood, rifles ready, one by each compartment.

"That normal?" He asked.


Monday, March 29, 2010

"Europe didn't used to be this hot, did it?" His accent made her look up from the newspaper she'd been half reading, but her huge white headphones were actually for noise reduction and she had to ask him to repeat himself, which he didn't. He continued, "When I was young, we didn't think about things like air conditioning, and now all these old trains are murder. As it to emphasize the point, he swabbed his shiny forehead with the cuff of his t-shirt.

She asked him, "Is this the first time you were in France?"

He smiled at her accent and nodded. "You're French, though?" he asked.

She smiled at his accent and nodded.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Wednesday's Moments of Consciousness

08.15: stubbed finger on nightstand turning off alarm clock
09.45: enjoyed beams of light, breaking through cloud cover
11.20: first bite of extra spiccy curry on naan
13.40: bathroom
17.01: brunette also waiting in line to buy tickets to movie
18.24: heart wrenching goodbye scene in movie
19.47: sunset between clouds and skyline
20.10: cleavage
20.22: a posterior
21.43: the time, ordering a last minute coffee

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

When he did finally collapse into sleep, it was dreamless and soft.

He woke with the sun, on time for his job and breakfast before. This was three hours of sleep, but it felt as if he were dropped newborn fresh into the day, his life, that moment.

Thursday: as different from Wednesday as atomically, schrodingeringly, universally possible.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Walking out of the train station this mid March was strange. Despite the warmth, the sunlight was wan and old leaves skittered down the sidewalk in loops, as if we'd rewound to October, or already missed summer altogether this year.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Somewhere in Eastern Europe

The old and grizzled barkeep side stared at his sole patron while pointlessly wiping his bar down. The man was hunched over a thick beer, dressed in a thicker faux- Russian hooded sweater and otherwise in earthen tones; he blended into the old pub well.

The barkeep tapped the bar, and the man looked up, sniffed, sighed and pointed at his glass, thumbed toward the draft beers. The barkeep nodded, pulled and slung another heavy pint to his patron, who audibly swallowed before finishing the previous and starting on his next.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

He bought their one way plane tickets with cash, always joking they'd get creaks from all the rolls of money scurried away under the mattress.

Monday, March 15, 2010

He locked eyes with the pudgy, balding client, across the vast expanse of moderno-expensive desk. He said, "You may think you're the good guy here, but, you aren't. It's that simple. You did something right, but the rest? The rest of what you did? All very, very wrong. And illegal. Good day."

Friday, March 12, 2010

A Tightness of the Soul

She paused to adjust her sunglasses as he stepped into the street and disappeared: whisked brutally away by the front of a bus.


She woke up three years and four hundred lovers later, hung over with stiff shoulders in a tatty biege wall, purple gauze room she didn't know. The girl in bed next to her rolled over and, gaga makeup eyes still closed, asked a question Z couldn't parse.


Her arthritic hands were finally conking out on her, the snow doing them in, no longer clattering along the keyboard.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

She set the roses in the snow, knees slowly turning blue. The candle wouldn't light, but she left it anyway, snapping her fingers unnaturally loud, on the wick with a prayer and a clap.

Monday, March 8, 2010

She walked calmly out of the rickety old house, ignoring the eyes of two men and a dog boring into her; slid into the black 2004 VW Beatle, and white knuckled through a blizzard to the graveyard.

Friday, March 5, 2010

Fooly Cooly

He said, "I watched it, but I never really felt that any moments in my life were like that, you know? I think that got behind me --that I passed all that-- a few years ago, now." He stirred brown sugar into his tea.

The cat, huge orange paws resting on the table, blinked at him and yawned before taking a neat bite of it's coney dog.

"Nothing to say?" he asked.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

In the day's blue afterglow, he stood staring out over the Pacific ocean. He saw, in the distance, a hundred foot long serpent m-backing it's way toward a school of jellyfish.

She tugged his hand and asked, "Dinner, now?"

Monday, March 1, 2010

Fifty Years later, he died --really died!-- for the second time.