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Elementary school. Later years. 5th, 6th grade maybe. Some lady. Not our regular teacher. Talking about Native American children. "...and when you line them up for a race and tell them to run as fast as they can, just like you run races on your own playground, they get confused," she said. Our young faces. Eyebrows showing our confusion. Raised. Furrowed. Raised. Furrowed. What's confusing about running as fast as you can to win? "...they don't understand winning unless it is about everyone crossing the finish line together. They only run as fast as the slowest runner. They run in... Continue reading
Posted May 25, 2010 at Polite Fictions
I know that at twenty-one feet, or less -- when an edged weapon is in play -- a firearm becomes as useless as tits on a hog. I know this because the first one was free. Actually, that aint quite true. The first one cost me a nickle. In an ass-crack corner of the back table section, you can tell the scrubs form the salty dogs.The scrubs are the ones with missing digits and deep scars. And they're nervous as a catholic whore in a protestant church. The dogs, the wild ones that on occasion howl at the full blood-moon,... Continue reading
Posted Apr 29, 2010 at Polite Fictions
We're all on board with the fact that I'm a big ol' drug addict, right? No worries, I'm not pounding away at this keyboard, soon to be interrupted by the compulsion to smoke a joint, down a 5th of Jim Beam, throw pills down my own throat or pop some skin in an attempt to... attempt to? An attempt to feed the monster that is addiction. Indeed, I've been clean for over two decades now and cannot even remember the last time I was interrupted by even a thought of feeding the monster. Doesn't that sound goooooood! Don't you... Continue reading
Posted Mar 19, 2010 at Polite Fictions
Before my father vanished, he warned me to never get my ass in a sling for a woman. He should have also issued a directive against letting her wrap one around my testicles. MotherofGodthishuuuuuuuuuuuuuurts! Speed dating, it's fun, you'll like it, my friends all said. The more women you meet, the more you increase your odds of meeting a nice Jewish girl to bring home to Momma, said my brother Marcus. Stupid ass, Marcus. It may not look like it, brother, but I'm paying for your sins by letting my stones be crucified here. JesusChriiiiiist! This is not the kind... Continue reading
Posted Mar 12, 2010 at Polite Fictions
Sisyphus, I am sure, was the originator of what is currently known as golf. Being very unhappy with his retirement package, which consisted of naught but boulder-pushing and endless tedium, Sisyphus decided to shake it up a bit. He gave himself some challenges. He put scoring in place. He broadened his course and created obstacles. The gods declared he had to push the boulder up the hill - they did not say how he had to get there. The truly diabolical bit is that he turned around and sold it to the living so that we may share in his... Continue reading
Posted Jan 22, 2010 at Polite Fictions
While checking the angle of her pillbox hat, she noticed a faux pas of graver consequence in the reflection she cast in the polished black marble and alabaster. A pair of her precious metal wings appeared somewhat askew. A twist of her silk-covered white fingers and there: the gold pin beamed brilliantly perpendicular to the rounded edge of her uniform jacket. Smiling now, she raised her eyes and cast an authoritative yet pleasant look toward the souls snaked before her through the maze of strung crimson velvet. "May I help the next in line?" she called. He approached stiff legged,... Continue reading
Posted Jan 21, 2010 at Polite Fictions
The sounds and smells of the city washed over her like a rain of emotional baggage. Large, heavy baggage, the type you buy for a field trip to Africa. It pelted her, like bricks thrown by angry orphans, until she had to close her eyes and turn away. The city was there, right there where she had left it. Feeling a jag of hysterical laughter bubbling closer and closer to the surface she realized she had left the city right where it was when she died. Except if she died, she reasoned, she wouldn't be standing there, on 93rd street,... Continue reading
Posted Jan 13, 2010 at Polite Fictions
Sweetney is now following Jason
Aug 5, 2009