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Mar. 12, 2010 The laminated posters from faraway years, and a zillion Marvel characters, or Jimi Hendrix singing The Wind Cries Mary. The gratings and the running water, or the stairway half outdoors where it was said they found a large snake hanging out waiting for something. God, the outdoor paint there was the most beautiful color green the sun stayed forever but the hurricane shutters were always there serving as some kind of warning. Narcotic ladies in the streets, wandering. Plush dark red seats in Buicks. Popcorn and the wind in the palms, or the strangest mists, light rains, better than God, better than God because of the simple way they appeared at first on coloured electric lights one third into the night, the good sub-tropical night. The car pulled up and a teenager too toughened and too street wise looked to challenge an average teenager waiting for a ride. Murals. Yellow lettering. Funny tanned natives, and piers. Ammo box dark green 840 CRTG 5.56MM BALL M855 M27 LINK LC-03D149-028. The northern world. They got something. The southern world. They got nothing. The man’s father had died and he got drunk, not too drunk- not fall down drunk- just drunk- and he said to those around him in the night not to worry- he knew about things- and more than half the world had to work for the world to work. Old neighbourhoods from previous incarnations. Broken windows. Gritty. The color green with blotches of good white. The woman with the brown skin- and dimples. Someone thought she was from Northern Michigan- but she was from Falls Church Virginia. Flags and nationalism. Crowds. How to escape the crowd? Triumph. Soft cover books. Love. True love. T-shirts. The enormity of the flea market. Painted bookshelves. Beautiful women. None is the right one. Installing fluorescent lights, four feet and eight feet. Washing your hands with varsol. Gold is a bad color. Silver- yes- better. White on white. Blue locks. Breaking locks open with metal bars and not enjoying it. Standing up the elevator shafts with no harness doing a modification job and taking off the old hardware from the cement walls- a terrible sort of duty. Hardened people. Real hardened people- beyond any sort of redemption or kindness. Sour juice. Hornets that invaded the grand and forever religious icon. Heating. Cooling. Walking. Warranties and serial numbers. Green sweeping compound. The blue snake-shot bullet found on the ground of the gun range. Sailing through asphalt realms by pop machines and motels. The northern nights, warm with the covers and cold with the nightmares and terrified at it all but yet something- something is there- there in the goodness of the sunlight as it hits the autumn leaves of that time and the walk is taken and a smile is managed. A smile is managed. ------------ About the Author: For more of Brian's short stories, visit his website: http://www.freewebs.com/storyandstory/. Email Brian Barbeito: Brian1750@Hotmail.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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