Spitball Army

The stuffy bus, stage door fatties, the hydraulic-ice-cream-cone-stage-entrance: life after American Idol wasn’t what he expected.
- Written by @EdBankson.

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Modern, Six-Lane DALLAS-FORT WORTH TURNPIKE, Looking West from Scenery Hill, Fort Worth, Texas

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I found this small political advertisement (it’s the size of a business card) at a local antique mall that is, sadly, going out of business.

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Card is titled: “Treasury St., Narrowest Street in United States. 7 Feet Wide. St. Augustine, Florida, The Oldest City in the United States.”

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His fists pound the bully; he exacts revenge, astride the tough’s chest, channeling his aggressor in a radiant moment of re-spite.

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There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

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The cellist rocked; his partner’s hands rolled over the keyboard. They followed Beethoven with “Truckin’.” The audience: grateful.
solow-auerbach_duo_blend_dead.html

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I teetered at the edge. My foothold crumbled. Flipping in midair, I tried flailing, helpless as the Venus de Milo. Then I awoke.

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I purchased your love letters. I blogged about you. Then, you died. Your niece googled your obituary. Now she knows your secrets.

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