Prose
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- Written by: wickedwahine_69
- Category: Prose
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After two or three days drinking, she’s not sure… she wakes with a start to find her arms and shoulders shaking violently with withdrawals. Terrified of the lost time and what could have possibly have happened while she functioned on auto-drunk-pilot, she has no choice but to try to put the pieces together herself. Telling by the bruises and scratches on her arms and legs, it has been a very unsteady time, and she briefly has a flash of smacking her face on the pavement.
I think I may have mentioned, my one sports passion is college basketball. Seeing as I don’t have a TV, when there’s a game on I’d like to see, I stop in at a sports bar, nurse a glass of wine for two hours and watch the game. When I’m in downtown Providence, I’ll stop by a little club just off Edwards Avenue.
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- Written by: Vangoman/ Dan Van Fleet
- Category: Prose
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In the room she found the flat sun lying down next to him, the splattering of streaks glinting off the waffle headed nails, and his nails so still that it was easy to see that they ended his fingers. The old wood waxed floor was worn from the lost decades of hand polishing, and as if there were some sort of symbiotic relationship, his hands were worn dull against the luster of the glossy floor.
‘Morning’..’ morning’ l replied battling through the wind and rain of this dreary brighton street, another day on my way to work, another day of the same old routine. l arrived at work and sat down.
I grabbed a coffee and wished away the next few hours until my lunch break.
Sure enough 12pm came around and l grabbed my coat and headed out the door,
I headed straight for ‘the vinyl tap’ a great used record store that l frequented almost every luchtime and spent most of my wages in there.
This is a story about Donna the Lumberjack. I call her that, not because she felled trees for a living. Hardly. She was a U.S. postal letter carrier. “Lumberjack” was just the word that popped into my head the first time I saw her. Perhaps it was her long stride or the cleft of her chin, or maybe the breadth of her shoulders – wide enough to humble a huddle of NFL veterans. I suppose I could have called her “Donna the Linebacker,” or “Donna the Longshoreman,” but “Lumberjack” just seemed to fit and that’s how I’ve referred to her ever after.
Read more: Donna the Lumberjack
