Spitball Army

On a crowded Green Line car, I gasped, said Hello. She smiled, said something in French. I desperately wanted to touch her face.

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Call me Fred. Once upon a time, on a dark and stormy night, I struggled writing my bio. All the best opening lines had been taken.

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“Do you view yourself as an independent?” she was asked. “Well, I titled my book after an SNL skit, and they’re kinda indie, so…yeah.”  – Written by @EdBankson.

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The host lambasted his guest for pronouncing Cheney as “chainie” and not “cheenie.” Even so, he said, “you’re more sane then not.” – Written by @Ralphley.  Based on an episode of Hardball with Chris Matthews from 17 November 2009, in which Matthews converses with Republican Party strategist Todd Harris.

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Sunday, he tore the crossword from The Magazine and mailed it to Mom. Tuesday, he realized the article was missing its final page.

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Jeno mewed like a kitten. Bunky barked, doglike. Gail said Boing! Boing! She was a bunny. I sat, still and quiet, as a monk would.

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“One medium hot tea,” said I. “Our medium’s large.” She showed me a paper jug. “OK, small.” Eight ounces later, I ordered another.

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Where did you serve? I asked. Fort Dix, Fort Bragg in North Carolina, he replied. Mm, I hmmed. He paused. And 476 days in Vietnam.

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Father never spoke of the War, except to show off his appendix scar to impressionable kids, like me, as “where that Jap got me.”

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The crown of the city felt big on his head, but when he examined its fit in the mirror, he saw possibilities for growth. (detail from front cover of Birmingham Weekly, November 5-12, 2009)

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