June Flasher directions, posted by Roy

A man goes into a convenience store to buy a newspaper, but this is not his day. Tell a story about what happens to him and why he never gets his paper.

June Flash Winner: an exceedingly tasty tidbit by Jack

THE QUICKIE

“Go down to the Quicki-Mart, get a newspaper and find a damn job.” That’s what the old lady hollered at me before I’d even had my first beer this morning. So I shut her up by promising to hit the pavement and get some money coming in. Dang woman that’s all I AM to her, a lousy meal ticket. She don’t have to work, so where does she get off telling me I have to. She gets her welfare check every month for kids she hasn’t seen since they run off two years ago. Those girls were sassy little things and I don’t miss them a lick. I bet they miss me though cause I know how to make little girls feel real good. All they want to hear is how pretty you think they are and how much they matter to you. Next thing you know you got them eating out of your hand.
So I heads straight away for the quickie mart but on the way who do you think I run into at The Dew Drop? Lester the molester Johnson. I hadn’t seen him since eighty-seven when him and me knocked over that chink jewelry dealer from the flea-market. The little slant tried to stick Lester in the eye with a flip-knife and if Les hadn’t a turned real quick he would have lost an eye. As it was he wound up with half an ear on his left side. I busted the little jerk over the head with a pipe and that was the end of him. After that we decided to split-up and lie low for a while but no one ever said a thing,. There wasn’t even a word about it in the newspaper, on TV, nothing.
Well I’m not just going to blow off an old friend. I don’t care what the bitch says, so we decide to go out and have a little fun. We head down to Larry’s pick up an 8-ball of coke and head out for “Nasties.” There’s this young girl dancing down there that’s sexy as hell and I know she’s got the hots for me. She couldn’t believe it the other day when I told her I was fifty. If only she knew I was stretching that by ten years. I got sexy young things digging me cause I know something them pretty boys don’t. Woman don’t care how you look. They don’t care if you got a beer belly, or if you’re a little thin on top or even if those crappy teeth you got from the free clinic don’t fit worth a damn. Hell no! I got the secret but I’m not going to tell you. The bottom line is I can get any woman I want once I put my mind to it. I mesmerize them with the sweet things I say to them. I know just what they want to hear.
So anyway me an Less drops by and see’s Dottie at the club and wind up going through the coke and half the rent money I was supposed to get a money order with it at the Quickie Mart. I suggested we go over to her place for a three-some and she was way ready for it but just my luck her boss comes over with the phone and tells her that her mother is real sick and needs her. That woman’s family is something else. Last time we was going to party her dad was sick, the time before that her uncle died.
So me and Less went back over to Larry’s for another eight and by that time I was too beat from job hunting all day to take another step so we went over to Less’s girlfriend’s trailer to freshen-up. Well, we get over there and the crazy bitch goes off on Less, telling him she said to not come back there no more and acting like she wasn’t his girl no more. She would have thrown us out right there but I happened to remember the coke and when I mentioned it to her she quieted down right away. As a matter of fact she’s acting real lovey-dovey to the both of us and as soon as she gets done putting the baby to bed we snort up the rest of the coke and begin a bang-fest. I told you women couldn’t resist me didn’t I?
Since it was my coke Lester had to go last and he was just getting his thing on when a big old Jimmy pulls up outside with it’s headlights sticking right into the front room. I see some big dude with a baseball cap pull a 4-10 out from behind the back seat and I yells to Lester as I’m beating it out the patio door. I didn’t stick around to find out what happened but I heard two shots pretty close together and then a little while later another two. It’s a good thing I grabbed Lester’s keys off the coffee table as I run out or I would have been walking.
Anyway I decide I better stop and get that paper or the old lady’s going to have a fit and I see this Quikie-Mart over on Taylor Avenue. I go into the place to get a paper and with just my luck I don’t have enough money left to buy a paper, I swear I never get a break. I go back out to Less’s Maverick and I start pawing through the ash tray and the seat cushions looking for cash and all I can find is a bunch of moldy Cheetos, a used condom and a lottery ticket that’s already been scratched. I decided to take the ticket inside and see if it’s any good. I walk into the place and nobody’s there. It’s like the chink running the place was inviting me to take what I wanted. I went around the cash register and just as I’m about to open it when I hear the click of a twelve gage behind me. Then the little guy tells me I gotta march into the back room where he can lock me up while we wait for the cops or he’ll blow my head off. I figure, screw him I’ll sue his ass for unlawful restraint. After all I was just worried when I saw the empty store and had gone behind the counter to see if everyone was O.K. I know a good lawyer that lives for messing with these big corporate chains. He can easily milk this for twenty grand.
Something’s wrong though the bastard knocked me over the head when I walked in here and when I come to he’s got me chained to the store safe. The little jerk must own the place cause there’s pictures of himself and his family all over the place. Shit! That old man he’s standing so proudly next to is that slant jeweler I whacked. How would he know? It must be a coincidence there’s nobody knows about that but me and Lester.
I can hear the lock turning in the door sure enough the little guy is back and there isn’t a cop in sight.
“Hello Mr. Reynolds, how are you tonight?” he says as if trying to be polite yet I can tell he’s really pissed.
“Just fine Charlie Chan now let me loose or I’ll sue you for everything you own.”
He wasn’t buying it and he scowled as he walked over to a desk and picked up a letter.
“Mr. Rynolds? Do you know what an amend is?”
“Yeah sure, I’m sorry then, just let me go and I’ll never come back.”
“I’m not talking about you, Mr. Reynolds, I’m talking about your friend, Lester Johnson.. You see here is a letter he wrote me three years ago in which he is trying to make an amend for his part in the death and robbery of my father. It seems Mr. Johnson was involved in Alcoholics Anonymous and one of their twelve steps involves contacting people they have harmed in their drunkenness and making amends to them. Mr Johnson’s amend to me was to provide me with a picture of my fathers murderer and details of how he died. I truly hope Mr. Johnson has found serenity for he has certainly done me a great favor. Mr. Reynolds, I am not an alcoholic, so there will be no need for me to make an amend for what I’m about to do to you.”

June flasher runners up. Most honorable mentions

THE WRONG TYPE (by anonymous)

Philister Abramovitz tugged down his cuffs and licked his thin lips as he approached the store. Time for his daily fix. The Stanton Courier. Thirty two pages of news heaven beckoned to him.
How were our boys doing against the dreaded Taliban? What were the devilish North Koreans up to? What latest atrocity had taken place in the Israeli/Palestinian conflict? How had the Stanton Cougars fared in their double-header last night? Had the Dow Jones moved up or down? Was the weather set fair?
Philister found himself trembling with anticipation as he pushed open the door. There, at the counter, Mr Wong stood, a perfect copy of Lee Chong, the storekeeper from Cannery Row, right down to the ring-tapping finger.
“Good morning, Mr Abramovitz,” he said, his ring clicking metronomically on the glass counter, “Stanton Courier?”
Philister nodded, unable to speak, his anticipation was so great. Mr Wong smiled and pulled a ready folded copy from beneath the counter.
“I kept this one specially for you,” he said, “it’s very crisp.”
Philister could hardly breathe as he accepted the paper, praying his clammy hands wouldn’t damage its pristine sheets.
“Thank you. Thank you.” He gasped as he counted out coins. He could barely focus on the tiny discs. His hands shook with expectancy, and blurred their outline. It hardly mattered. The counting was only ritual. He always brought exactly the right amount and no more or less. Form finally satisfied, he tipped them onto the counter, and with a perfunctory wave at the store proprietor, turned for the door.
“Hrmmph, hrmmph.”
Philister stopped in his tracks at Mr Wong’s imperious cough.
“Hrmmph, hrmmph. Another dime please, Mr Abramovitz.”
Philister turned as shock sent cold waves down his back. Another dime? How could it be another dime? He counted the amount out meticulously every day before he started out.
“Sorry. The price went up today. It’s another dime.”
Philister looked in horror at the top of the paper. Mr Wong had told the truth. He felt violated. Sweat prickled his brow.
“But, but, but.” He said, the disruption in his routine leaving him floundering. “But.”
“It’s only another dime.” Mr Wong held his hand out and tipped his head in a friendly way.
“But, but I don’t have another dime. I always bring the right money.”
“Not today, ha ha. It’s another dime.”
“But I don’t HAVE another dime.”
“Then give me the paper and I’ll look after it until you get one.”
“Can’t I give it to you tomorrow.”
The storeman shook his head and tutted. “What kind of business would I be running if I let people take things without paying?” He smiled brightly and pointed at a ‘NO CREDIT’ sign. “Eh?”
Philister’s ulcer stabbed at him and he winced. “But I’ve come in here everyday for the last sixteen years for my paper, and it’s only a dime.”
“Sorry, Mr Abramovitz. Business is business. No money, no paper.”
Philster’s ulcer took another stab. “Now don’t be awkward, Mr Wong. You’re being ridiculous.”
As soon as he’d said it he knew it was the wrong thing. The proprietor’s eyes narrowed.
“Ridiculous, you say? Give me that paper.”
“No.”
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
“Gimme now!”
“No I won’t, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”
“No?”
“No.”
“Let’s see.”
Mr Wong pulled the wooden handle behind the counter. For years, Philister had wondered at its purpose, but had been too polite to ask. He felt his feet wobble, then Wong’s furious face and the rest of the store shot upwards as he plummeted through the floor into darkness.
Philister landed with a whoomph on something that gave only slightly. His back added more pain to his complaining stomach and he groaned as he rolled from what he guessed were piles of newspapers. As he did, a tiny light flicked on, then another and another. He pulled himself up to his knees as a circle of pale faces appeared in the gloom, lit by mobile phone lights or cigarette lighters.
“Stanton Courier?” A voice asked. He nodded, unable to speak. A murmur of understanding travelled round the room.
“You’re with friends now.” A woman in an ageing business suit helped him to a space near the wall and settled him on a pile of papers as he regained his breath and composure. The lights flicked off.
“It’s an outrage,” somebody said, “another dime!”
The murmur circled the room again.
Somebody began to sob quietly in a corner.
“What’s happening? What’s happening?”
“Pull yourself together, man!” another, military-sounding voice interjected, “It’s going to be all right. We’ve got a plan!”
The sobbing got quieter, but didn’t stop. The woman next to Philister leaned over and whispered in his ear.
“Mr Forester has radio. If we can find a way of making an aerial, we may be able to get a signal.”
“Will that help us get out?”
“Get out? Oh, no, but we’ll be able to pick up the news.”
Philister sensed his ulcer calming down as he digested the information, though he knew it wouldn’t somehow be the same. Then he had an idea. He cleared his throat and spoke out loud into the darkness.
“Uh, maybe we could all survive for a while by reading what we’re sitting on?”
A sharp intake of breath told him his idea was far from popular. More muttering began, this time not so agreeable. He couldn’t understand them. So it wouldn’t be brand new, fresh and up to the minute stories. The spice might have left them and they’d be stale, but when needs must you took what you could, didn’t you? He didn’t dare ask, the muttering had turned so unfriendly. Then the woman next to him flicked her light on, illuminating the pile of papers he sat on. Only it wasn’t papers. A hooded man wearing a cape the shape of a bat’s wing glowered up at him.
His ulcer stabbed him hard again as he slumped against the wall.

June flasher runners up. Most honorable mentions

Momma's Boys, by Ginny

On a sweltering night in mid-July, Vince Brown stands at the window, staring out at the flashing lights. He mumbles something about not being able to see the stars and turns around to face his captive audience. “What the hell you gonna do now, Einstein?” a voice taunts in his head.
He looks to the sweaty faces huddled in the corner of the Quik Mart, silenced by duct tape and tries to figure out what his options are.
Only hours ago, he and his brother were headed home after six months on a rodeo circuit that took them all the way to California. They’d won some money in Vegas and Boulder but just as they were headed into California, they got the call that their mother had been taken to the hospital.
They pooled what little cash they had and raced back to Oklahoma. As they pulled into a station just outside of Tulsa, Vince noticed something in Russel’s pocket.
“What you got there, little brother?” he asked.
Russel scowled and shoved his hand in his pocket. “Nuthin,” he muttered.
“Like hell. Give it here!” Vince shouted as he put the truck in park and struggled with his brother. Finally, he took the object and stared at it with a mix of surprise and anger.
“Lemme explain, Vince. I -”
Vince exploded. “What the hell are you thinkin’? I oughtta wup yer ass fer this! Momma’s in the hospital and yer monkeyin’ around with a pistol! Boy, you are some kind of stupid!”
“It’s not real, asshole!” Russel shot back. “You’re the stupid one! I bought it from that old, snaggletoothed cowboy back in New Mexico who always tries to sell us dirty horse blankets. Now, give it here!” he reached for his gun.
“No” Vince said.
Russel continued to plead “Aww, c’mon, Vince! We ain’t got no money to bring home to Momma and I thought we could, you know, use this to git some.”
“How’s a dumb ass like you gonna use this to git money? Even if someone handed the money to you, you’d probably fuck it up somehow.” Vince said.
Russel looked at the floorboard. “I wuz hopin’ you’d help me.” He waited for a response and when he didn’t get one, he looked over at his brother. “Vince?”
Vince stared at a spot in the horizon as pictures of his mother filled his mind. He’d never amounted to much back home. Just an average guy who could hang on to a bucking bronco longer than some around him. He pictured Momma, sitting in her rocking chair in the living room, reading from her Bible and he felt like she could see the evil he was contemplating.
He looked over at his younger brother and shook his head. “You ain’t gettin’ this gun back and we ain’t robbin no store. Now, start pumping while I go call Misty to see how Momma’s doin and see if they need us to bring ‘em anything.”
He got out of the truck and headed to the pay phone. He fished in his pocket for his calling card, dialed the number, and tapped his boot while he waited for his sister to answer.
“Misty?” Vince said, raising his voice as an eighteen wheeler roared past the station. “It’s me, Vince, how’s Momma?”
“We ain’t got no money and the shit-for-brains nurse won’t give momma any more medicine until she gets papers from the Medicaid office.” Misty said flatly. “You know how broke we are, Vincent. Medicaid ain’t doin shit fer us and…and… Oh god, Vince, she’s looks real bad. Doctor said she’s got blockage in her heart.” The toughest woman Vince had ever known in his life sobbed in his ear. “Jest git here, Vince. Momma asked if you would bring her a newspaper so’s I can read it to her.”
“I’m at the Quick Mart right outside of town. I’ll pick up the paper right now. You hang in there, girl and I’ll make it all right when I git there.”
Misty sniffed, “Okay. See you soon”
Vince hung up the phone and went inside to pay for the gas and the paper. The elderly woman behind the counter gave him the total and Vince pulled out his wallet only to discover that he didn’t have enough money. His mother’s sweet, wrinkled face loomed in his mind as he searched his other pockets for more money. When his hand touched the handle of Russel’s gun, something in him snapped.
He didn’t care about anything but getting enough money to take care of his family. He glanced around the place, noted quickly that there were only a few people there, and carefully pointed the gun at the cashier. “I’m sorry ma’m but I can’t afford that and I’m gonna need all the money you got in that drawer.”
With fear in her eyes, the woman said “You shure you wanna do this, sonny?”
Vince raised the gun a bit more and answered “I ain’t got no choice. Now, git the money and I’ll git outta here and nobody gits hurt. Got that?”
She nodded and started pressing buttons. Just as she was about to grab the money, the door opened. Russel stood in the doorway, gaping at the scene before him. Vincent Brown, the most honorable man in the world was robbing some old lady. “Holy shit, Vince!” Was all he could muster to say.
They both jumped as they heard police cars in the distance. Vince looked at the old woman “Did you hit some alarm, lady? Why do I hear cops?”
“We got cameras wired directly to the Sheriff’s office.” she said with a smirk on her face.
“Give me the money, Granny!” he shouted. She took a bag near the register and started to fill it with the cash from the drawer. The sirens came closer and before he could grab the sack, two police cars pulled up to the front door. Vince’s mind snapped to attention as he spoke to his brother. “Russ, go lock them doors.” Russ did as he was told. “I’m gonna show the cops that I’ve got a gun aimed at Granny here and you’re gonna go make sure the back door is locked and that everyone in here comes to the front.”
“Got it!” Russel said as he rushed off.
“Now, Granny, I don’t want to hurt you but I gotta show the cops that I mean business. So come around here and let’s show them who’s in control.”
She limped around to the front and stood next to him while he yelled through the window, “DON’T DO A DAMN THING OR I’LL SHOOT HER! I SWEAR TO GOD, I WILL!”
From outside a bullhorn bellowed “Lower your weapon and come outside with your hands up.” Vince knew that they could pick him off with a single shot. He grabbed the woman and put her in front of him as he backed away toward the corner where his brother had rounded up a teenage girl, a middle-aged man in a business suit, a little boy and his younger sister. The teenage girl and the kids were crying while Russel began taping their mouths.
“What in the hell are you doin, Russel?”
“We can’t have em screemin the whole time, dummy. Plus, I seen it on TV. We’re supposed to do it thisa way.”
Vince groaned. They both jumped when the phone rang. Vince kept the gun aimed at the hostages and picked up the phone.
“This is Sheriff Billings. You boys are in way over your heads. We’ve been watching you on the cameras this whole time. Let the people go and we’ll get you outta there.”
Vince snorted. “Right. Just like that. Nice and easy, right? Well it ain’t gonna be that easy today, Sheriff. Since I got hostages, I got some demands and you better git me what I want or I’m gonna start killin em.”
“What do you think you’re gonna get out of me, Son?” Sheriff Billings asked, amused at the boy’s naiveté.
“My brother and me want a ride to the hospital, enough money to cover Momma’s medical expenses and,” he glanced around the room and his eyes rested on a pile of newspapers “and today’s newspaper so’s Misty can read it to her.”
Vince heard a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “You gonna git it for me or what?”
“I’ll see what I can do, Son. In the meantime, why don’t you let those people go?”
“No way, Sheriff. No way. As long as I’ve got them, you’ll git what I want. You gonna give me what I asked for?”
“I’ll do my best. I’ll call you back in a minute.”
Sheriff Billings sighed again and looked up at Deputy Fowler. “The boys’ momma is in the hospital and they want her bills paid.”
Deputy Fowler just shook his head. “What are you gonna do, Mike?”
“Do you know who that is in there, Brian?” the Deputy shook his head. “That’s Harry Brown’s oldest boy, Vince. Could have gone pro rodeo except he decided to quit when his dad died. I can’t believe he’d do something like this. I guess we’ll just have to take ‘em down. It’s a shame but I it’s the law.”
Deputy Fowler nodded and told the others. Some went round to the back and Sheriff Billings dialed the number. “I’m sorry, Son but we just can’t do that. I know you’re in a rough place but this isn’t the answer.”
Russel watches his brother and sees the worry on his face. “We’re fucked, aren’t we, Vince?” Vince nods as he walks over to the hostages.
“I’m sorry for all of this.” he says in a whisper and walks over to the front door to unlock it to let the people out. He sees the rifles aimed at him and doesn’t seem to notice. Nothing matters to him.
He watches the people rush out to the protection of the flashing lights and scans the faces of the policemen. From the right, he hears a familiar voice shout “Come on out, boys, with your hands up.” Vince drops the weapon and walks out the door and Russel follows looking confused.
Vince stares out past the flashing lights to a place on the horizon as men come out to put them in cuffs and throw them in the back of a car.
He feels his brother bounce against him, whimpering. He wants to say something but the despair is too great and he just leans back and closes his eyes. He tries to block out the sound of the sirens and the pain in his heart by picturing his mother’s face. His thoughts are interrupted by a voice speaking to him from the front seat.
“Which hospital is your mother at?” the voice asked.
“St. Luke’s,” Russel answers.
Again, Vince tries to picture his mother’s face. But he notices that the siren has ceased and they are parked in front of the hospital. The door opens and a Sheriff Billings helps them out, unlocks their cuffs and stuffs something into Vince’s hand.
“I knew your dad.” the sheriff told them. “Fought in Nam with him. He was a good man and you are good boys. Get goin. I won’t tell your Momma if you won’t.”
Vince frowned. “I don’t understand.” he said.
“When she’s doin’ better, come by the station and we’ll see what we can do about making things right.”
Vince nodded, tears gathering in his eyes. He put his hand out and Sheriff Billings shook it. “I apologize, Son, but I didn’t get a newspaper.”
“That’s okay,” Vince said as he felt the envelope in his hand and guessed it was money, “Somehow, I think she’ll understand.”
Sheriff Billings smiled and got back in his car as the two brothers entered the sliding doors.

Angeluna, by Jack, aka Phil Devoid

The prompt directions were:
In this exercise your M.C. (from WiP or not) is faced with 2 choices, both of which go against the grain.
After providing a brief but well-anchored character sketch, tell (show) us what the alternative consists of, the decision he or she makes and why she/he could not have made any other.


Angeluna: Is a sultry girl with many personality quirks. Her name is actually derived from Gringlish, Spanish sounding language made up by Anglos that don’t speak a word of it. Whether they meant Angel-Moon or Crazy-Angel is unclear for she has passed through many foster rooms before landing permanently at the home of the Burton’s. She is beautiful, she is black and she is either extremely lucky or extremely unlucky depending on your perspective. She’s unlucky to have had so many close encounters with untimely death. Accidents just seem to be waiting for her around every corner. On the other hand she has survived them all and considering how many there have been she’s lucky indeed.

Angeluna’s POV

I am pissed, as pissed off as I’ve ever been in my life. I know it doesn’t make sense but that new little baby boy they just adopted makes me furious. Just looking at him triggers something inside me that makes me want to run away forever. For one thing he reminds me of my dead brother. That abusive bastard treated me like dirt from the day we were born. I was never free to be me while he was alive. I had to watch my every step. I could never ask for what I needed for fear of sparking his wrath. I’m twice the size of little Louie just like my brother Tommy was twice the size of me. It doesn’t matter; I’m just as scared of him as I was of Tommy. I take one look at him and I want to run.

Now I’ve got to decide what I’m going to do. Do I leave or do I stay? I’ve been gone all night and I’m sure everyone’s freaking out about it. I’m so hungry I’m dizzy but I can’t even eat when that little brat is watching me. I could easily kick his ass but every time I even think about him I remember Tommy and get so scared I could pee myself.

I decided to stay. I’m not going to let that upstart rule my life and I’m through letting the memory of Tommy mess with me. Besides I know my new family simply couldn’t live without me and I feel almost sorry for them. They just better not forget that I’m the one they love and they better not be petting and brushing him instead of me. I guess it could have been worse; they could have brought home another dog. So I’m just going to sit up here on top of the refrigerator where I know he can’t get me and give myself a bath then I’m going to curl up and take a nice long nap.

Abstract Applesauce

(A scrumptious little gem, by Vee)

So, you say you come from the star Ten-Alp, in a galaxy we humans haven’t discovered yet? And you are curious about an old saying we have: “An apple a day keeps the doctor away.”
You want to know two things. First, what is an apple? Second: What are doctors and why do we need them?
Well, I won’t touch the doctor thing. But I will give a stab at explaining apples.
Here. Stand in front of this large blank screen. It’s called a canvas. As you see, there is nothing on it. Just blankness.
Stand there and just look at it. Stare at it.
Slowly, draw a curved line. Color? It can be any color you want it to be. Bright blue? That’s fine. This is an abstract idea, not a literal drawing.
Actually, I like the thought of bright blue apples. But I digress.
You want to know where to place the curved line? Anywhere you choose. There are some interesting psychological assertions about where one places a single object on a blank screen, but that’s another problem. We will stick with apples.
Okay, you placed the curve right in the center of the screen. Good. Now just look at that curved line. Don’t think about it, just look. See how you curved the line outwards, towards the edge of the screen? Excellent. You must have an instinct for apples. When you feel like it, continue the curved line. Up or down, it‘s up to you.
There you go. You have continued to curve the line upwards. Now, bring the curved line in, until the top of the line is at the same point on the canvas as the bottom, where you started the curve. Place a little stubby line at the top of the line. We call that a stem. You now have half an apple. Do the same thing downwards. Keep the down curve equal to the up curve, until the curved lines comes together and are joined at the bottom.
Amazing. You have the outline of an apple. Eggs? No, you would have curved the line differently for an egg. We call the shape of eggs `oval’ and that of apples `round’. You have just made a roundness, which is also named, `a circle.’ Of course, apples are not perfect circles, but they have the idea of a circle. They are rough circles.
Now, paint the rest of the canvas black. Don’t paint inside the curved line. Just leave the white canvas inside the line alone. Amazing, isn’t it? You just drew an apple in negative space, and you don’t even know what an apple is.
Of course you can’t hold this apple, it’s only a representation. An apple is smooth, though, and smells like autumn. Do you have seasons on Ten-Alp? No. Pity. Do you have trees? No. Well, it’s like this. When our sun begins to change course, our land cools. Our trees begin to lose their leaves, which fall off the tree branches and onto the ground. For this reason, we sometimes call autumn `fall’. And when this happens, the air is clear and clean, and smells like autumn leaves.
Oh, sorry. Of course you can’t understand that. Well, then, do you have clear water? You do? So imagine a deep pool of clear and cool and pure water. That’s how apples taste.
You’re welcome. Come back soon. We’ll do eggs.

Jack's poem

A BRIGHT RED HAT

A splinter of moment beckons to a sunlit Saturday.
A moment of my childhood in the deepening far away.

I see a faded old ford and a bright red hat
and my heart gets heavy when I think of that.
I feel the shake as dad lurches through the gears
on our way home from the market with a couple of beers.

We had the same kind of hat
but I was just a kid,
I even loved that pick-up
cause I thought he did.

He wanted to be Bogie,
I wanted to be him,
So I bit on my lip
and I flipped up the brim

I needed to know that it mattered
but something inside him shattered.

Look at me dad, can you see that I’m cool too?
I got a funny expression on my face, just like you.
My hat’s on crooked, and I’m looking groovy
just like you and that guy in the movie.

Well I guess I was only pretending
to be a man, and I’m not defending
what it was he thought that I did.
If I’d known what it was, I’m sure I would have hid

But I wasn’t the only one caught
being someone that they were not.
A man's got to be a man
He’s got to rise and take a stand,
do what he must do,
not get taken for a fool,
though his mom and his wife
were the bosses of his life.

He didn’t have to take that kind of shit from no-one,
least not from his smart-ass son.
Now a backhanded eye glares down at the floor,
at the dirty red hat that mocks him no more.
And his words echo back and we’ve all heard them before.
To show pain is to show your treason.
Cry and I’ll give you a reason