All posts filed under: WIP

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The Road Is My Map | A Work in Progress

{ 756 words, began Aug 3, 2001 } It’s funny how I got here. The first ride I got was from a car full of guys. They were of the ripped jeans and faded rock t-shirt variety, blaring classic rock and heavy metal in an old muscle car that was much older than me.  Only the cutest one of the boys flirted with me and I got the impression he was the only one of them not a virgin because all of his lines were smooth and confident. Had I not flirted back I may not have managed to get him to buy me a pack of smokes.  They dropped me off at the rest stop off I-70 without trouble. From there I got offered a ride by a kind elderly lady who had taken one look at my dingy clothes, windblown hair and the most pathetic face I could put on and felt sorry enough for me.  She got me here and was reluctant to let me out in the middle of nowhere, but …

Project Zero-13 | A Work in Progress

{ 744 words began Jan 7, 2010 } Stirred by the furtive movements of what was likely a rodent of some kind sniffing about in the foliage that surrounded him, the man awoke with a slight disorientation while lying under a bed of leaves, mud and twigs.  Vivid images of the dream he was having still lingered in his mind.  Like most dreams it was not an exact documentary of actual events, although inspired by them.  Instead it deviated from the script, as dreams often did.  A certain degree of surrealism had replaced realism.  Just before he was awakened, he had experienced the dream’s unscripted happy ending which was in direct contrast to the real life events he experienced prior to arriving to these woods to elude capture from his unknown pursuers. The happy ending was that he actually knew more than just his first name; that he knew exactly why he wore the strange costume, that underneath it was not some man that no one knew, and that he had the ability to speak.  …

Just Another Dame | A Work in Progress

{ 894 words began in 1998 } It’s Saturday night in the Big City and I got nothing going on. So what’s a sorry bag of bones like me do but go down to The Watering Hole and get sauced? It’s my only option, aside from drowning my sorrows at the bottom of a bottle in front of the tube watching old movies that remind me too much of the olden days when things were simpler, better. I could go prowling the streets looking for trouble like any other practicing scumbag, but that’s not advisable when you’ve got the sting of a devious dame playing you for a fool still fresh in your gray matter. Instead, I go on down to the ‘Hole to get liquored up. I’ll go on feeling sorry for my sorry ass, but this way I’ve got company, which misery loves dearly. I travel by foot, using the City’s alleyways to get where I need to, avoiding street merchant whores and panhandlers. The sitting bums in the alleys are too inebriated …

Short-term Effect | A Work in Progress

{ 452 words began in 2006 } I come back to consciousness with a mouth full of blood and a busted lip the size of Texas. I can’t remember how I got this way. I got a few scrapes and bruises on my face, a knot on my head that’s throbbing. They say ignorance is bliss, and for a few minutes as I sit here in this dark, quiet alley, I think: yeah, short-term memory loss does have its charm. Then I remember: she’s not next to me anymore. Roxy. She’s unforgettable. It doesn’t matter that I’ve taken a few bumps to the head, the face. Dames have a knack for leaving long lasting impressions on a fella. Roxy Star was what she told me to call her. I called her Foxy Roxy not just ‘cause she’s sexy as hell, but because she was sly like one. I’d never known anyone, let alone a little street rogue, who could pick a pocket or pull a short con like Foxy Roxy. She’s the best, at least for …