Traffic StopOkay, Officer, you know, ordinarily I’d be happy to give you my license and registration, because I’m a very law-abiding citizen, born right here in the U.S. of A, no questions about that—not that I have any issues with people coming into the country from other places because, you know, my grandparents all came over from Ireland, and my parents were born here, and so was I, which means there isn’t any question about me being legal and legit and all—oh, right, the license and registration, well, you see, this is kind of awkward because I don’t exactly have my purse with me right now, and this isn’t exactly my car—I mean, it’s not stolen or anything like that, it belongs to my boyfriend Jim, so I can drive it whenever and it’s totally okay with him, except maybe not so much right now because he’s with that slut—oh, shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to use that word, I don’t usually use bad language--that’s not ... |
by P. Jo Anne Burgh (1676 Words) 
Squad Car @ The Bridge by GunnerVV | Flickr
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A Kiss
135: I want to be with him every single day by bronx. | Flickr
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by Keith Frady (1648 Words) The moon hung in the night whole and round and bright as the toll of a church bell promising salvation. Its reflection floated lazily on the lake’s surface, rippling when Blake or Johnny ran one of their naked feet through the water. The whole drive to the lake they had sung as loud as the pumped-up radio, wind tossing their hair, the headlights fairy-flashing on speed limit signs they blew by without regard for law or numbers. But now silence, or something like it considering the crickets and the trees and their breath rested over them like humidity, the bottle of whiskey between them almost empty, their fingers almost touching. Neither of them had said a word about the waterlogged corpse decaying not thirty feet away on the lake shore.
Blake broke the silence. “We have to call the cops.” |
FirebrandMarty O’Brien pushed through the door of his local, nodded at the barman, then tripped on an errant shoe left discarded near the door.
‘Ah, for feck’s sake...’ Marty groaned as he struggled to his feet. He dusted off his tweed trousers and cast a scowl at the barman. ‘Watch yourself there,’ the barman said in a sing-song voice as he dried a glass with a towel. Marty cast his gaze around the bar. The pub was vacant except for the barman, unusual as at least a couple of locals tended to wait outside for the eleven o’clock opening time, and it was already quarter to twelve. The floor of the bar was littered with shoes of all kinds. |
by Andrew McAuley (400 Words) 
Beer and Fire by Alan Levine | Flickr
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Doggerel [ daw-ger-uhl ] adj. 1. (of verse) comic or burlesque, and usually loose or irregular in measure. 2. rude; crude; poor. |
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one tiny elephant
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