Archives For memes

Flash Friday Fiction #50

April 12, 2015 — 1 Comment

I was 22, first person in my family to go to college. I was living the dream, cushy law firm job in the big city, apartment with a view and a doorman. Traveling for work and for pleasure. All the things I was supposed to aspire to growing up black and poor were at my fingertips. I wasn’t thinking about Ferguson or Eric Garner. I had escaped. If they’re done as they were told they’d still be alive besides I had all the time in the world to fix this. I would make partner, establish myself,  run for office. I could show everyone that if you studied hard and dressed properly you could be black and successful.

I’d rented a car to drive to a formal affair on a client’s property that was outside the city. I was trying to impress the client and I could write it off so I went with expensive but not ostentatious or I chose the Mercedes instead of the Jaguar or at least that was my 22 year old justification. If I got this client to sign a new contract I could lease one of these instead of renting it for the weekend.

I was on my way back to my building, luxuriating in the ride when I noticed the flashing lights in my mirrors. I hadn’t been speeding or ran amy lights so I moved to the slow lane to let the police car go by. The police car stayed behind me and as I braked at the next set of traffic lights I heard the officer demand that I pull over.  I stopped, still puzzling over the nature of my infraction. The office approached the car and put my window down.

“Can I help you officer?”

“Do you know why I stopped you?”

“Can’t say that I do”

“OK. License and registration!”

“Sure let my grab…”


My final thought as I sat at that redlight trying to catch my breath as fluid filled my lungs was what picture are they going to dig up to justify this?

Flash Friday Fiction #49

April 5, 2015 — 1 Comment

As soon as you finally start to relax there is the fear we’re going to start arguing again.

Continue Reading...

Flash Friday Fiction #48

April 1, 2015 — 1 Comment

I never used to dream, I would put my head down on the pillow and I was out until I awoke the next morning. I was like this for a long time until one day on my way home a woman stopped me in the street and give me three stones. I never used to take things from strangers either. Yet, suddenly I was standing at the door to my apartment with three colored stones in my hand searching for my keys. I never searched for my keys, I knew where they were at all times — they were always clipped on my left side belt loop and tucked into my pocket. And now the stones were gone in their stead I was holding three oranges, and in pocket instead of my keys there were two small limes.

What’s the hell is happening to me?

I never used to lime, I kept my head down at work, didn’t really try to make friends and simply went straight home. I was like this for a long time until one day on my way home a woman stopped me in the street and give me three oranges. I never used to take things from strangers either. And suddenly I was standing at the door to a strange apartment with the three oranges in my hand. I had never been to this apartment before, but I knew the keys I had in my pocket could open the door.

What’s the hell is happening to me?

I never used to orange.

Wait! That’s not right…

I never used to keys.

I never…

“Doctor, test subject Deckard continues to show unusual brainwave activity in reaction to sheep stimuli. Shall I continue the test?”

flash fiction friday #47

March 21, 2015 — 1 Comment

My former partner once said of an affair, “I don’t know how it happened.” To which I responded, “did you simply trip and fall into her pussy?” Now here I was barely in the door, furtively trying to take off our clothes off while simultaneously attempting to keep my hands and mouth in contact with my oldest and dearest friend. We weren’t drunk and less than five minutes ago I was standing on the other side of the door saying my goodnights. I honestly couldn’t tell you how it happened. Except, maybe logically, I can. 

Thursday night dinners have been a regular thing since we got married. We decided we were not going to our friendship whither. The dinners entertained us through our marriages, gave us solace during our respective divorces and allowed us to swap tales from the front lines of our jobs. During one dinner we sat with laptops on the table and created profiles for each other on the usual singles sites as we shared horror stories of dates gone wrong.

Tonight’s dinner didn’t feel different in any way. We ate, we caught up, we commiserated, we mocked and then we made plans for another dinner and drinks with friends. Then we started our goodbyes, which when you’ve been friends this long can take anywhere from five to 50 minutes.

Which as the song goes, brings us back to do-do-do. We were standing at the door, hugging like we have for the last 25 years with the usual provencial cheek kisses when it happened, a slip of the lip, but instead of pulling apart we were kissing. I could taste that combination of wine and chocolate mousse on our lips and I wanted more. We wanted more, which why we were now falling back through the door starting what’s clearly a new chapter in our friendship.

flash fiction friday #44

December 22, 2014 — 1 Comment

When the sky broke we were sitting around and consuming fruity rum drinks.

Continue Reading...

Friday Flash Fiction #43

December 14, 2014 — 1 Comment

Before the fall of the snake oil empire I could sit down and write missives.

Continue Reading...

dan is the man in the van

October 19, 2009 — 1 Comment

“you are such a flake” she said with a devilish grin. “i’m only five minutes late, if i was flaking i wouldn’t even be here” i countered. we’d been playing this constant cat and mouse game for weeks, with constant last minute cancellations, project meetings and client calls, now, at last we were finally seated at a table about to break bread.

with weeks of careful planning on our part at stake we thought it would be best to hand over all of our communication devices to the maitre’d with strict instructions not to return them to us unless they spontaneously combusted, turned into snakes and started attacking the staff or some other equally implausible eventuality. we had been introduced by mutual friends almost a year ago to the day. according to them we were both smart, funny driven people who would either hit it off beautifully, fall in love and make beautiful children and make everyone else envious of our seemingly perfect lives or we would hate the other’s guts and our friends would have nothing to more to be envious because our ‘perfect’ lives would be devoid of love and they could hold it over our heads.

funnily our friends both used the same word to describe us – rake. as in (s)he is quite the rake, but i love her/him so. we had both broken our share of hearts along the way, but not in a vicious take no prisoners way that precludes the possibility of friendship, in fact the aforementioned friends were multiple exes who based on the same social and professional circles managed to find new interpersonal connections. and now hopefully it was going to be our turn.

it was the smell of cinnamon that woke me that morning. usually i’m out of bed first but on this particular morning i’d managed to sleep through not only her getting out of bed, but the usual noises of breakfast preparation. this was highly unusual, the other thing that was equally unusual was i dressed. i very rarely sleep in clothes, much less be so exhausted that i would wake up fully dressed under the covers.

the height of the bed and the cold tile floor added to my bewilderment. i hadn’t been drinking but i suddenly had the worst case of rum belly. i opened the first door i saw and prayed it was a bathroom. thankfully my prayers were answered.

as i planted my bum on the throne, i tried to figure where i was and how i ended up there. the bathroom looked fairly generic, right down to the dumb his and hers towels on the rack and the cutely shaped hand soaps that were a staple for guest rooms. they could never get that right, there would always be that odd edge from the mold that would take months of constant washing to go away but never happened because they always changed it after every guest.

i stood and washed my hands and face, rubbing my thumb absentmidnedly on the rough edge of the soap looking at my reflection. i looked like a bum, actually i looked like i felt – like i’d been ridden hard and put up wet. i was in a rumpled  tshirt with a r. crumb illustration and faded blue jeans, i sniffed my shirt and caught the pungent odour of smoke and hard drinking and wondered for the millionth time, what i’d been up to the night before.

as i stood there lost in my own thoughts, the scent that woke me snapped me from my reverie, time to face the piper whoever it might be. i exited the bathroom through the bedroom and onto a small carpeted landing. did i navigate stairs in my state last night? curiouser and curiouser. i made my gingerly down the stairs following my nose to the kitchen.

have you ever imagined what you’d look like as a member of the opposite sex? i didn’t have to, there i was, standing in the kitchen. i looked up or my doppleganger looked up and smiled at me. my freakishly large hands reached out towards the towels, wiped them and gestured for me to take a seat. with my heart racing i sat at the table and wondered yet again, what the hell was going on.

riddle me this

July 22, 2009 — Leave a comment

These questions were sent to me by cajunscorpiogirl and originally came from White Apples by Jonathan Carroll.

Continue Reading...

my commentary on Wired’s GeekDad 100 Essential Skills for Geeks

Continue Reading...