Spitball Army

Granny Brown, neighborhood grouch, rested a broom on her front porch. Halloween night, we crossed the street to avoid her house.

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The juror came to trial each day dressed in a camouflage jacket. True to the fabric, his disposition could not be discerned.

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The cynical academic donned his Oxford cap and spectacles covered with numbered lines. For one night, he was a graduated cylinder.

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Links to the first available news reports and video from the Larry Langford trial.

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It happened again last night. Violin in hand, he arrives late. The Maestro’s dictate: You’ll be soloing in the Debussy concerto.

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Dawn gig at the coffeehouse. Distracted, steam scalds her hand. A patron enters: “Happy birthday!” Her fingers throb a reply.

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From my yard, I can spy the neighbors’ kitchen. From my landing, their bathroom is visible. From my top step, they all can see me.

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There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

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There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

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There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

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