(Author’s note: I was off for a month. I’ll be honest, work got hectic and things just got really buggery. I am happy to be back, though, as today the weariness has been removed (with a change of case.) Here’s today’s fictioneers!)
by Miles H. Rost
A vinyl record careened by Luigi Binalli’s nose.
Hearing a commotion, Binalli had entered the radio studio to see the great Giuseppi “Gus” Lombardo frisbee The Eagles Greatest Hits album against the wall.
“Stupid Americans!” Gus spat, while shattering a copy of Chic’s “Good Times”.
“Gus! Why are you destroying our records?!” “They stole our songs! They took Tozzi’s song and ruined it!” “They’re making Italy’s music world known!” “They’re destroying it! Can they not leave our music alone?!” “Not if Tozzi’s getting royalties.”
Gus’s eyes grew wide, as he threw a Donna Summer record at him.
(Author’s note: A lot of my delays between weeks has usually been due to either busyness or other items. I’m hoping things will get better, but until at least November, it likely will not. I’ll do the best I can, though. Here’s today’s offering!)
by Miles H. Rost
Fabrizio grimaced as he started cleaning the remains of Hurricane Belinda.
A large storm, she threw the nests of seaweed up in front of his restaurant. He knew if he didn’t get it done, it’d stink up the neighborhood.
“Fabrizio! Where have you been?” she called out, Fabrizio jumping at her voice. “I need to clean this up. I need to open so I can help people.” “But what about our promised night out?” “Do you want to help me clean this up in your Chuta Gabrola?”
Marina’s eyes grew wide, as his suggestion sunk in.