I wake up with the light. Magnified by so much snow, it blushes the windowsill with a rose glow, and with the winterbirds piping in the lilac tree, and my husband radiating next to me, so hot I sleep in just a sheet, I can almost trick myself out of January, into spring.
I want to think there are buds on the trees, that the window is opened, that an earthy breezy seeps in. That maybe the crocus are peeking through the last of the snow in the garden, questing up for the sun with their green fingertips, and the robins will arrive at any moment.
But the alarm clock goes off, and the weatherman says more snow, and maybe birds, will fall from the sky by Wednesday.
We live in strange times.
When the train was late again that day, on the closing of November (the third time in a week; that's how you know it's winter) and I watched a bunch of blackbirds wheel and swarm, explode and reverse, I was thinking of people I loved, scattering the country, migrating their seasons. I was thinking of the unseen concert of our comings and goings, how we've splintered and regrouped over years, the magnet hearts that draw us.
Swollen with new hope and comforted despite the gray, and the cold, and the leaving sun, I thought, "We are like birds, we know where to go." I abandoned the train and just walked home, whistling "Bye Bye Blackbird," a little off key, without a trace of irony or the slightest ghost of foreboding.
So much for omens.
Or maybe I'm just losing my psychic abilities. But I didn't see the New Year coming, with all its cracks and catastrophes. Thundersnow, and the suffocated south. New York trapped in ice and blackouts. The frays of fish washed dead on shores, devil crabs in droves, and red snappers in New Zealand by the hundreds with their eyes gone missing. Thousands of birds that dropped from the sky dead and heavy and scientists who only say (with too much confidence and not enough explanation) cause of death - High Impact Trauma. Impact with what? Are the aliens coming? Or is this the Wrath of God on the Gays like the lady on the Christian network says?
My head is full of lists and names: a cloud of red-winged blackbirds first, and followed by a worm of robins. A clattering of jackdaws fell in Sweden with a murder of crows (and no one thought the pun was funny anymore) and then there was the scourge of starlings and the plague of grackles, and lastly, sadly, almost sweetly the pitying of turtledoves that fell down on the streets of Rome.
Whoever chose the collective nouns for birds knew more of omens than I.
And now a wondering dread sets in, and I don't feel singing or smiling and safe.
These days I avoid the train altogether. Though every morning I wish it spring, the storms keep coming one by one. I make coffee and sit at the window, and watch the sky for snow and lightening.
I watch the sky for raining toads, and yes, for fire.
Showing posts with label What's wrong with America today. Show all posts
Showing posts with label What's wrong with America today. Show all posts
Monday, January 31, 2011
Monday, October 11, 2010
No.
This piece of your heartflesh
left in an ashtray.
White porcelien ashtray
on a blue bed-side table
with scuffs on its surface.
Surgical and bloodless,
the edges; far less than a pound.
Such a slender segment.
You call this an offering?
Incised tumor
removed with intention;
discarded,
unburnt,
I am not impressed.
left in an ashtray.
White porcelien ashtray
on a blue bed-side table
with scuffs on its surface.
Surgical and bloodless,
the edges; far less than a pound.
Such a slender segment.
You call this an offering?
Incised tumor
removed with intention;
discarded,
unburnt,
I am not impressed.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
The Winchester Whaling Company (Part 1)
This is a story about monsters.
Every morning, I climb into the Whale’s mouth.
The air is always a little too warm, a little too wet. The women all have limp dresses and frizzy hair. The men have red, prickly rashes where our collars rub. The smell is raw and salty and oily; it will stick to us for the rest of our lives.
The Whale is lit with florescent lights, and there are no windows. The long tubes flicker and buzz like they are filled with trapped fireflies. No matter what hue you wear on the outside, no matter how rich or vivid or bright, those lights leech the pigment from everything.
There are only four colors inside the whale: a murky bog-black; a dish-water white; a hollow brown that sounds slow, like a bed-ridden death; and a gray that slides over then away from the eyes. In the stuttering light, people move in slow jerks, like old-fashioned films. Sometimes, I try in the eye of my mind to warm up the colors, overlay quaint, Olden Days clothes, and play the monkey-grinder music, so their movements aren’t so sad. But in the heavy air, the image never lasts.
The Whale does not like sounds unassociated with itself. It will take the music right out of your head, if it catches you listening.
The machines in the Whale’s belly do not whir or click or whump with any sort of satisfying rhythm. They grind and groan and sputter like a monster with a tummy-ache; which is, after all, what the Whale is, exactly.
I work in the Whale’s head, four floors up. The elevator carries me there, moaning and shuddering under the weight of the workers. I am one of forty workers inside the head who begin the day at 7:30. The second shift begins at 4:00, and the third at 11:00, with a 2 hour overlap for each shift to smooth the transitions.
In the head of the Whale, we collect information. There are two divisions, the Concrete and the Theoretical. The Concrete Division has five departments: Auditory, Visual, Olfactory, Gustatory, and Tactile. Each department gathers the Whale’s sensory perception of its surroundings, keeping strict notation of changes. The Theoretical Division is considered more complex, as it deals with the Whale’s thoughts and ideas. The departments in the Theoretical division are currently: Communication, Emotion, Identity, Reflection, and Numbers.
I work in the Numbers department. The main function of the Numbers department is to track and process what the Whale counts. I work in a specialty division of the department that is responsible for what the Whale should count, but doesn’t; things like breaths, heartbeats, fish consumed, bowl movements, emissions, and days.
All of the information from the departments and divisions is collected, codified, analyzed for patterns and relevance, processed and commented upon in a lengthy report of annotated spreadsheets. The reports are then passed on to the Brain for synergized analysis; which is to say combined and reflected against all the other reports from all the other divisions. Synergized analysis is performed quarterly, whereupon the findings are presented to the Brain’s Internal Review Board. From this presentation, decisions are made for the Good of the Whale.
The Good of the Whale is the ultimate objective of all work done in the Whale, and the reason for our continued existence. We are the Company. The Company serves the Whale.
Every morning, I climb into the Whale’s mouth.
The air is always a little too warm, a little too wet. The women all have limp dresses and frizzy hair. The men have red, prickly rashes where our collars rub. The smell is raw and salty and oily; it will stick to us for the rest of our lives.
The Whale is lit with florescent lights, and there are no windows. The long tubes flicker and buzz like they are filled with trapped fireflies. No matter what hue you wear on the outside, no matter how rich or vivid or bright, those lights leech the pigment from everything.
There are only four colors inside the whale: a murky bog-black; a dish-water white; a hollow brown that sounds slow, like a bed-ridden death; and a gray that slides over then away from the eyes. In the stuttering light, people move in slow jerks, like old-fashioned films. Sometimes, I try in the eye of my mind to warm up the colors, overlay quaint, Olden Days clothes, and play the monkey-grinder music, so their movements aren’t so sad. But in the heavy air, the image never lasts.
The Whale does not like sounds unassociated with itself. It will take the music right out of your head, if it catches you listening.
The machines in the Whale’s belly do not whir or click or whump with any sort of satisfying rhythm. They grind and groan and sputter like a monster with a tummy-ache; which is, after all, what the Whale is, exactly.
I work in the Whale’s head, four floors up. The elevator carries me there, moaning and shuddering under the weight of the workers. I am one of forty workers inside the head who begin the day at 7:30. The second shift begins at 4:00, and the third at 11:00, with a 2 hour overlap for each shift to smooth the transitions.
In the head of the Whale, we collect information. There are two divisions, the Concrete and the Theoretical. The Concrete Division has five departments: Auditory, Visual, Olfactory, Gustatory, and Tactile. Each department gathers the Whale’s sensory perception of its surroundings, keeping strict notation of changes. The Theoretical Division is considered more complex, as it deals with the Whale’s thoughts and ideas. The departments in the Theoretical division are currently: Communication, Emotion, Identity, Reflection, and Numbers.
I work in the Numbers department. The main function of the Numbers department is to track and process what the Whale counts. I work in a specialty division of the department that is responsible for what the Whale should count, but doesn’t; things like breaths, heartbeats, fish consumed, bowl movements, emissions, and days.
All of the information from the departments and divisions is collected, codified, analyzed for patterns and relevance, processed and commented upon in a lengthy report of annotated spreadsheets. The reports are then passed on to the Brain for synergized analysis; which is to say combined and reflected against all the other reports from all the other divisions. Synergized analysis is performed quarterly, whereupon the findings are presented to the Brain’s Internal Review Board. From this presentation, decisions are made for the Good of the Whale.
The Good of the Whale is the ultimate objective of all work done in the Whale, and the reason for our continued existence. We are the Company. The Company serves the Whale.
Monday, September 13, 2010
I'm All for Words But Sometimes...
Don't listen.
The words are hooks and barbs.
Mind torn like a fishmouth,
heart rent
like the knee of your jeans
on the chainlink.
Don't listen.
The scourge pestilent words.
Gnawing teeth;
a rat-tide,
Dermestidae,
death-beetle rash.
These words will eat you down to nothing;
skeleton and fragments.
Don't listen.
When they say
you can not be made for me,
they weigh you against
their own expectations.
Weapontrap questions
to sever you from me.
Waist-catching, bone cracking
jaw-snare terms.
Bearsnap sentences
laid to bait
and break you.
Don't listen.
They may sweeten
their tone with reason,
and say, "If you love,"
and say, "For the best..."
Drown you in the goldsong
of judgmental compassion.
Don't listen.
Stop your ears with beeswax.
The singing is unsafe.
Rather flood your ears with Hemlock;
sleep off this honey poison.
Don't...
Love, listen.
The only word that must matter is mine.
The taste of your heart in my mouth.
Your name
when I say it,
Burgundy Black,
bitter and rich;
chocolatesmoke rising.
Hear it,
from my mouth to yours.
Your name,
sugared yes.
Passed
in a kiss so
you don't
have to listen.
The words are hooks and barbs.
Mind torn like a fishmouth,
heart rent
like the knee of your jeans
on the chainlink.
Don't listen.
The scourge pestilent words.
Gnawing teeth;
a rat-tide,
Dermestidae,
death-beetle rash.
These words will eat you down to nothing;
skeleton and fragments.
Don't listen.
When they say
you can not be made for me,
they weigh you against
their own expectations.
Weapontrap questions
to sever you from me.
Waist-catching, bone cracking
jaw-snare terms.
Bearsnap sentences
laid to bait
and break you.
Don't listen.
They may sweeten
their tone with reason,
and say, "If you love,"
and say, "For the best..."
Drown you in the goldsong
of judgmental compassion.
Don't listen.
Stop your ears with beeswax.
The singing is unsafe.
Rather flood your ears with Hemlock;
sleep off this honey poison.
Don't...
Love, listen.
The only word that must matter is mine.
The taste of your heart in my mouth.
Your name
when I say it,
Burgundy Black,
bitter and rich;
chocolatesmoke rising.
Hear it,
from my mouth to yours.
Your name,
sugared yes.
Passed
in a kiss so
you don't
have to listen.
Friday, February 06, 2009
Winter Marches Mercilessly On
Snow is inconvenient. Cold without snow is stupid. I miss California.
Piled under blankets, wrapped around a mug of tea, watching the pearly grey light strain against my kitchen windows. Watching the plants in the kitchen strain starving towards the light.
If I close my eyes, I can see Cali, the impossibly tall Palms arched across the radiant sky. A softer winter sky, without the scrubbing summer dust. The magenta bougainvillea leaves trailing in the pool, lazy lounging hearts. Thick date clusters hanging over the garden wall and the oleander in the corners, around the rocks where the lizards sun themselves. I can see Cali, but I can't smell it. This house just smells cold, plaster and snow, and the cigarette smoke in my hair from the night before.
Bears would take one breath and know it was still time to sleep, curled up under piles of leaves and layers of fat and fur. Bears would wait for spring to wake them. Why are humans so intent on staying the same all year round? If I could sleep with the season, I'd be far less grumpy. I would dream of Cali and Mexico, and the hot basking sun of Rome. I would taste the desert sun in my sleep and wake up hungry for summer.
I wonder what bears dream? Probably honey.
I would dream of honey too. Sweet sticky ribbons of sunlight, and the summer hum of a billion bees.
Bees also sleep in the cold. They also know. And who can even guess what bees dream? Bougainvillea and Star Jasmine and Purple Clover and bears.
And I dream of bears and bees chasing me. Laughing.
Monday, October 08, 2007
On the Town With Molli Brown
Right now, it is weeks later, Cali is burning and I'm sitting in a hotel in Northern New Jersey, drinking Orangina and watching Perfect Strangers.
But I have to tell you about my Saturday Night with the Ladies.
Our Parents went away for a long weekend and left me in charge of two teenagers, and you might think that's the worst idea ever, but you can shut the hell up cause I can be very responsible sometimes when I try really hard.
Friday night we'd stayed in with Chinese and movies, so Saturday I wanted to go out,out,out! I was pretty well recovered from my pneumonia by then and feeling itchy. But this was tricky, where to go? There's really not much for underagers in our part of So. Cal. Anyplace that had live music also had alcohol, and I wouldn't be able to get the girls in, movies are freakin' expensive (after popcorn and all that jazz, you're talkin' 50 bucks to take 2 girls and myself to a movie. Movies used to be a goddamn nickel and you got a cartoon and a news reel. That's what wrong with America today.)
Shan wanted to go to a hookah bar, which is I guess the hot new hangout for all her hoodlum friends, despite that they should be too young to smoke hookahs in anycase. I referred her back to my afore mentioned pneumonia. The last thing I wanted to fill my newly un-infected lungs with was a whole lot of scented tobacco smoke, no matter how delicious triple apple may be. And didn't I quit smoking (again) 3 weeks ago? I vaguely remember that, and, oh yeah, you kids are too young to smoke!
So that was out. After much deliberation (and lectures on my part about Shan's makeup, and how I didn't want to go out on the town with Tammy Faye Baker 2.0) We decided to head toward Riverside for some dinner and a Drive-in Movie, cause it was within my budget and also I'm a sucker for Drive-ins.
Despite my trepidations, Belle turned out to be a good driver, (she just got her license) even on the freeway, and we got to Riverside without incident. Now, where to eat? I am starving. Belle wants Sushi. Shan hates fish. I want tacos. (I always want tacos.) We pass a place that says Pacific Cafe and also says Sushi. I think the cafe part means things besides Sushi, and that everybody will be happy. We go in. It is empty. A teeny tiny Japanese lady sits us down, comes back in 5 minutes with menus, and take our drink orders. The whole time we where there, she consistently thought the 3 of us were 2 of us. Belle and I got place settings, Shan didn't. Belle and Shan got their drink orders taken, I didn't. Shan and I got our food orders taken, Belle didn't. I found this absolutely hilarious. So, we look at menus, its allll Sushi. Shan's getting upset, Belle decides she doesn't think she can eat Sushi after all, I still want freakin' tacos, but now we're sitting and we're the only people in the joint and this little Japanese grandma is bowing at us and asking what we want, and, yeah. So I order some spicy tuna, Shan sees a thing on the menu that says "stuffed potato." When she asks Grandmother what's in it, the woman brings her a dinner/app. menu with all sorts of non-Sushi items on. I'm trying not to crack up all over the place, Shan orders some sort of chicken kabob, we eat fast and high-tail it out of there.
We still have 3 hours to kill before the movie, so we start walkin' around. I still want tacos, but the Ladies are over food for the moment. Belle sees Le Sex Shoppe on the corner and says, "Lets go there!" These kids have as low an opinion of my sense of responsibility as ya'll do.
No,no,no. No Sex Shoppe. Keep walkin' Ace.
I'm feeling like I could use a drink right now, but again, responsibility gets the better of me. I remember a funky cool coffee house I used to go to, and decide caffeine will have to do, and I drag them over there. Shan resents all the walking, because she is wearing her "tall shoes."
Now we're at the coffee bar. There's a long line and only one kid working. There's some spaced-out trip hop on the radio and a lot of hipsters on couches and around tiny tables. The wall across from the counter is lined with old books and local art, and the lone kid working has a nice smile and an easy manner. "Do they only have coffee?" Says Shan, making a face. The huge menus above the counters attest to the fact that they have much more than coffee. Shan gets coffee anyways, some sort of mocha raspberry affair. Belle gets a fancy latte too, and then they both decide they are hungry again, and now I'm buying caramel brownies and ham and cheese croissants. Notice the complete lack of tacos. I get a plainjane coffee and we sit a bit. Shan's launching into a tirade about how busy and chaotic the place is and how do writers sit in these kinds of places for hours and hours anyways, when a Vampire walks in.
Picture a man in his mid to late thirties. Aristocratic nose, high cheekbones, slanty, amber wolf eyes, long, flowing locks of flouncy hair, clearly wearing makeup (eye-liner and foundation) long fingernails painted black, big silver rings, black leather garb (not clothes, garb.) way way too warm for California, big silver cross on a long long chain around his neck. A right-out-of-Anne-Rice freakin' Vampire. He orders a coffee and a ham n cheese. I'm not fooled one bit. Vampires pretend to eat people food all the time. I seent it. I point him out to the ladies. Belle giggles. Shan flips out and she thinks we're going to die. "We're pretty much dead," she says. So he's waiting for his ham n cheese, and groovin' on this triphop. Like, he's doing some weirdo dance with his arms. "You see!!!!!!" says Shan, "He heard you and now he's putting a spell on us!"
He was putting a spell on us. We had to leave the coffee shop and find our car, so we could go to the drive-in. Riverside is very small. We parked in the middle. We walked no more than 8 blocks. We couldn't find our car. It wasn't missing. We just couldn't find it. We had been confounded by a level 2 confusion spell! We walked around and around for an hour. Belle was all caffeinated and sugared up. She was floating about 10 feet ahead and 2 inches above us, singing to herself. Shan was stomping around in her "tall shoes," wailing about our impending doom. I'm not scared of vampires and I like walkin' around at night, so I was inventing conversations in my head to have with Bean about how I sugared up her children and got them confounded and then sucked by Vampires. And also lost the car. In that conversation, Bean said, "Are you on drugs? How much have you been drinking?"
How is it that I'm always in the most trouble when I'm sober?
Then it was getting spooky out, because we were in between some high buildings that echoed, and there were hoodlums on the corner, and street toughs on the steps. At least that's what Shan was crying about. And then, we were in a shadowy courtyard, with a tall tall luminous fountain at the end of it. Like moths, we made for the light and then, a voice high above me says, "Good evening ladies."
"Hi-hello!" I squint and look up. About 3 stories above me, a smiley man all in white hovered beatifically in the darkness.
"Nice night out, isn't it?" said the angel.
"Very beautiful!" I was smiling real big.
"You ladies enjoy yourself, be careful and have a wonderful evening," said the angel. He was actually a town hall security guard, and he was more standing on the 3rd floor balcony than hovering in the darkness, but he was still a angel, cause we got to the fountain and turned right, and there, in a pool of streetlight was our car. The Vampires paltry spell was no match for the magic of the Night Watchman! Haha!
And then we were free. We went on to have many more adventures that night, but that is top secret lady business.
Enjoy your evening. Stay away from vampires, it's getting Halloweeny outside.
But I have to tell you about my Saturday Night with the Ladies.
Our Parents went away for a long weekend and left me in charge of two teenagers, and you might think that's the worst idea ever, but you can shut the hell up cause I can be very responsible sometimes when I try really hard.
Friday night we'd stayed in with Chinese and movies, so Saturday I wanted to go out,out,out! I was pretty well recovered from my pneumonia by then and feeling itchy. But this was tricky, where to go? There's really not much for underagers in our part of So. Cal. Anyplace that had live music also had alcohol, and I wouldn't be able to get the girls in, movies are freakin' expensive (after popcorn and all that jazz, you're talkin' 50 bucks to take 2 girls and myself to a movie. Movies used to be a goddamn nickel and you got a cartoon and a news reel. That's what wrong with America today.)
Shan wanted to go to a hookah bar, which is I guess the hot new hangout for all her hoodlum friends, despite that they should be too young to smoke hookahs in anycase. I referred her back to my afore mentioned pneumonia. The last thing I wanted to fill my newly un-infected lungs with was a whole lot of scented tobacco smoke, no matter how delicious triple apple may be. And didn't I quit smoking (again) 3 weeks ago? I vaguely remember that, and, oh yeah, you kids are too young to smoke!
So that was out. After much deliberation (and lectures on my part about Shan's makeup, and how I didn't want to go out on the town with Tammy Faye Baker 2.0) We decided to head toward Riverside for some dinner and a Drive-in Movie, cause it was within my budget and also I'm a sucker for Drive-ins.
Despite my trepidations, Belle turned out to be a good driver, (she just got her license) even on the freeway, and we got to Riverside without incident. Now, where to eat? I am starving. Belle wants Sushi. Shan hates fish. I want tacos. (I always want tacos.) We pass a place that says Pacific Cafe and also says Sushi. I think the cafe part means things besides Sushi, and that everybody will be happy. We go in. It is empty. A teeny tiny Japanese lady sits us down, comes back in 5 minutes with menus, and take our drink orders. The whole time we where there, she consistently thought the 3 of us were 2 of us. Belle and I got place settings, Shan didn't. Belle and Shan got their drink orders taken, I didn't. Shan and I got our food orders taken, Belle didn't. I found this absolutely hilarious. So, we look at menus, its allll Sushi. Shan's getting upset, Belle decides she doesn't think she can eat Sushi after all, I still want freakin' tacos, but now we're sitting and we're the only people in the joint and this little Japanese grandma is bowing at us and asking what we want, and, yeah. So I order some spicy tuna, Shan sees a thing on the menu that says "stuffed potato." When she asks Grandmother what's in it, the woman brings her a dinner/app. menu with all sorts of non-Sushi items on. I'm trying not to crack up all over the place, Shan orders some sort of chicken kabob, we eat fast and high-tail it out of there.
We still have 3 hours to kill before the movie, so we start walkin' around. I still want tacos, but the Ladies are over food for the moment. Belle sees Le Sex Shoppe on the corner and says, "Lets go there!" These kids have as low an opinion of my sense of responsibility as ya'll do.
No,no,no. No Sex Shoppe. Keep walkin' Ace.
I'm feeling like I could use a drink right now, but again, responsibility gets the better of me. I remember a funky cool coffee house I used to go to, and decide caffeine will have to do, and I drag them over there. Shan resents all the walking, because she is wearing her "tall shoes."
Now we're at the coffee bar. There's a long line and only one kid working. There's some spaced-out trip hop on the radio and a lot of hipsters on couches and around tiny tables. The wall across from the counter is lined with old books and local art, and the lone kid working has a nice smile and an easy manner. "Do they only have coffee?" Says Shan, making a face. The huge menus above the counters attest to the fact that they have much more than coffee. Shan gets coffee anyways, some sort of mocha raspberry affair. Belle gets a fancy latte too, and then they both decide they are hungry again, and now I'm buying caramel brownies and ham and cheese croissants. Notice the complete lack of tacos. I get a plainjane coffee and we sit a bit. Shan's launching into a tirade about how busy and chaotic the place is and how do writers sit in these kinds of places for hours and hours anyways, when a Vampire walks in.
Picture a man in his mid to late thirties. Aristocratic nose, high cheekbones, slanty, amber wolf eyes, long, flowing locks of flouncy hair, clearly wearing makeup (eye-liner and foundation) long fingernails painted black, big silver rings, black leather garb (not clothes, garb.) way way too warm for California, big silver cross on a long long chain around his neck. A right-out-of-Anne-Rice freakin' Vampire. He orders a coffee and a ham n cheese. I'm not fooled one bit. Vampires pretend to eat people food all the time. I seent it. I point him out to the ladies. Belle giggles. Shan flips out and she thinks we're going to die. "We're pretty much dead," she says. So he's waiting for his ham n cheese, and groovin' on this triphop. Like, he's doing some weirdo dance with his arms. "You see!!!!!!" says Shan, "He heard you and now he's putting a spell on us!"
He was putting a spell on us. We had to leave the coffee shop and find our car, so we could go to the drive-in. Riverside is very small. We parked in the middle. We walked no more than 8 blocks. We couldn't find our car. It wasn't missing. We just couldn't find it. We had been confounded by a level 2 confusion spell! We walked around and around for an hour. Belle was all caffeinated and sugared up. She was floating about 10 feet ahead and 2 inches above us, singing to herself. Shan was stomping around in her "tall shoes," wailing about our impending doom. I'm not scared of vampires and I like walkin' around at night, so I was inventing conversations in my head to have with Bean about how I sugared up her children and got them confounded and then sucked by Vampires. And also lost the car. In that conversation, Bean said, "Are you on drugs? How much have you been drinking?"
How is it that I'm always in the most trouble when I'm sober?
Then it was getting spooky out, because we were in between some high buildings that echoed, and there were hoodlums on the corner, and street toughs on the steps. At least that's what Shan was crying about. And then, we were in a shadowy courtyard, with a tall tall luminous fountain at the end of it. Like moths, we made for the light and then, a voice high above me says, "Good evening ladies."
"Hi-hello!" I squint and look up. About 3 stories above me, a smiley man all in white hovered beatifically in the darkness.
"Nice night out, isn't it?" said the angel.
"Very beautiful!" I was smiling real big.
"You ladies enjoy yourself, be careful and have a wonderful evening," said the angel. He was actually a town hall security guard, and he was more standing on the 3rd floor balcony than hovering in the darkness, but he was still a angel, cause we got to the fountain and turned right, and there, in a pool of streetlight was our car. The Vampires paltry spell was no match for the magic of the Night Watchman! Haha!
And then we were free. We went on to have many more adventures that night, but that is top secret lady business.
Enjoy your evening. Stay away from vampires, it's getting Halloweeny outside.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
