the blue raincoat

by nick nelson

excuse me, the woman in the blue raincoat murmured. no, pardon me! the man in the brown hat rejoindered. except for the woman in the blue raincoat and the man in the brown hat, the concourse was deserted. where had they come from? where were they going? an observer, if there had been any, might well have wondered. but worse was to come. despite his outward show of politeness, the man in the brown hat was discomfited and terrified. his name was harold hutchinson, and he led a secret life. oh, you laughingly reply, everybody leads a secret life. actually, this is only partially true. give yourself a moment to consider the proposition. under every exterior there is another exterior. i refuse to be a party to such nonsense. i understand perfectly. excuse me for bringing the subject up. i knew you were a blithering pusyfooting gasbag. there is no need to get personal, my friend. forgive me, but isn’t addressing me as “my friend” somewhat personal? please join me in saying a prayer for the man in the brown hat, the unintentional cause of all this grief. i beg your pardon, what about the woman in the blue raincoat? yes? what about her? you seen to know all about her. i know precisely nothing at all about her. oh, come now, old man, it just won’t do. what a diva you are. next week, then. same time, same place?

the search

by genghis gilgamesh

adam angrily went on the attack boris bounced a basketball behind his back cassandra chattered like a chattanooga train delilah dumped a dinosaur down the drain elwood explored an empty envelope frankie found a football which she frantically groped george glowed ghastly when his gorilla growled harry was hounded in a hayfield and howled irma was inflamed by an insolent imp johnny was jobbed by a jocular gimp kenny was king in the karma of his dreams lulu lost her lollipop in a muddy stream mike was manhandled by the merciless minions of nebuchadnezzar’s nihilistic dominions omar khayyam was open all night and pitied poor pancho villa’s plight the queen of the may had nothing to say but remembered king richard on her wedding day schehezerade told a sad tale sinbad the sailor never caught jonah’s whale uncle bud will track you down aunt victoria will always frown when you stand and wave on the balcony remember the nights when you slept in the trees wish for a nickel and expect a penny forget the dimes, you won’t get any don’t be afraid to step on that crack in the sidewalk - but don’t look back

spirit of st louis

by bofa xesjum

charles a lindbergh madagascar the emperor nero pachyderms a quiet night under the stars roy rogers robert louis stevenson apples bananas the crimean sea denmark edward iii french toast hope for the future jelly beans calvin coolidge buck rogers plastic surgery george washington a world without oysters sand deserts a young man dreams of joining the foreign legion grape juice vampires long underwear trailways bus stations grover cleveland the thirty years war jellyfish the nine of diamonds sir robert walpole the chicago fire dinosaurs man eating tigers water wind the count of monte cristo i love my wife but oh you kid ronald reagan the prophet isaiah turkish taffy my old man istanbul love is for lovers arthur ransome captain kidd ovaltine peanuts a repentant sinner lost kingdom of gold

the comedians

by bofa xesjum

could you keep the noise down, please? a deep growl emerged from the dark corner of the room. perhaps you would like to elaborate on that request? i do not recall your being authorized to question me in that manner. harrison and inchbald had quarreled before. captain davis, the secretary of the club, had warned them in the sternest manner that their nonsense would no longer be tolerated. suffice to say, the warnings had gone unheeded, but had heretofore been confined to dark grumblings and mumblings. but the fat was in the fire now. harrison stood up. i expect you know what has to be done, he expostulated. just what do you mean by that? inchbald replied with disquieting mildness. samarkand, harrison responded vigorously. oh, come now, inchbald laughed. you could not find samarkand on the map. quite the master of the deflating remark, aren’t you, old fellow? as i may have mentioned before, i am not your old fellow. any more than i am your humble servant. this is all rather exhausting, woggins interjected from beside the fire. if you two comedians wish to continue your inane jabbering, please do so offstage. the masks fell off harrison and inchbald simultaneously, and they regarded woggins with undisguised loathing. what exactly are you insinuating? harrison demanded of woggins. woggins withdrew from the conflict like a terrapin into its shell, and ostentatiously put his copy of the times up in front of his face. it seemed at that point that the whole sorry affair was finished. but more was to come. later that day, a mysterious package wrapped in brown paper was delivered to the club. later, an investigation revealed nothing.

solitary thinker

by horace p sternwall

i had a parakeet once named romulus dupree nobody liked him much but he was always nice to me i was arrested by scotland yard for a crime i did not even commit and you all did not care not even a little bit but the parakeet was a brick and stood by me through thick and thin that is what a pal is for who does not care if you lose or win they sent me to devils island and gave me a suit of stripes the warden was a solitary thinker who drank wine and smoked a pipe he invited me to dinner and served me potatoes and beef the candles flickered in the gloom as he expounded his beliefs i ask you to listen to me, he said for as long as it may take the walls were covered with old masters but i suspected they were fake i thought of the poor apprentice in a studio cold and bleak copying rembrandt and velasquez seven days a week i thought of a tramp steamer carrying pigment to paris and marseilles i thought of a cottage in the mountains and a tear fell from my eye

two women

by bofa xesjum

i would not do that if i were you. the words echoed in frammis’s ears as he slowly opened the front door, and steeled himself to step outside. a veritable monsoon was raging in the street. after carefully unfurling his umbrella, he stepped out onto the walkway and closed the door behind him. how he wished he were anywhere else! nobody had ever understood him. he had never enjoyed a real youth. he had been warned repeatedly about falling in with bad companions. if only he had had any companions, good or bad! companions who might have warned him about gloria! frammis slowly made his way down the walkway to the sidewalk. how ugly the neighborhood was! even the pouring rain could not hide it. now, he thought, i am truly one of the damned. despite this fearful rumination, he retained enough composure to walk down the street toward the railway station at a pace commensurate with the weather, quickly enough to escape the downpour, but not so quickly as to slip and fall - a potential catastrophe! he expected any moment to hear a police car ’s siren. and yet he heard none. did he dare to breathe a little easier? all his life he had dreamed of a woman such as gloria. it was not as if she had really taken him by surprise. an empty headed dissolute tramp, interested not in himself but in his money. the very type he had read about in a hundred cheap novels, and seen in two hundred b movies! suddenly he thought of joyce - the eminently respectable girl his mother had picked out for him. but he quickly banished her from his mind. a long black car came around the corner of man street and approached him, its tires hissing in the rain, its windshield wipers beating furiously. it was too late to turn back. the black car cane up to him and stopped. joyce, of course. was behind the wheel. he forgot his story. there was nothing left to say.

prodigal son

by nick nelson

sometimes i wonder if this world is really real and if anybody in it knows how i really feel and if i tried to tell them would it be worth the grief and if they said they understood would i feel any relief i don’t really like you much and you do not like me let us gather on the mountaintop and drift out to sea i passed a kitten on the highway and it followed me home i gave it all my wealth and fame but it only wanted a loan the servants gave a mighty shout when i approached the gate i told them i forgave them but it was too late they found a rope and hanged me from the old apple tree the peach tree was taller but it was just not meant to be they set up the picnic tables as i swung in the breeze i had nothing more to give them but they were easy to please