(Author’s Note: I’ve had to take some time off recently, in order to get things in order. I am moving this coming weekend, hopefully to a place where I’ll be able to save up and get my own pad. But in that time, I get to enjoy new music, which I get to add to my list. One such song is what you’re going to hear tonight. Here’s the fictioneers! [By the way, watch the video and tell me how many celebrities you see. If you get all of them, you get a custom salute from me!])
© Randy Mazie
How Can The Laboring Man Find Time For Self Culture
by Miles H. Rost
“If you don’t find time to relax, Brian…”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll end up in my grave. You’ve said that for the last 20 years, Jeana.”
Two heart attacks confirmed Jeana’s words, and Brian knew it. He just couldn’t rest until she was comfortable.
“There’s an exhibit about the history of underwear at the museum. We should go.”
“And put me in an early grave?”
Brian looked at her flatly, Jeana finally realizing that an exhibit like that would, actually, make his heart pressure soar.
“Maybe we can watch the Rock Hall Inductions.”
“Alright,” Jeana sighed.
At least he would relax.
(Author’s note: And now, life begins. Secured housing, have job, wish to travel. Writing is still going to be late, though…but not as late. Still tiring waking up at 4:45 to get to work by 5:30. Here’s FF!)
© Roger Bultot
Lin looked across the marbled entrance of the airport. 250 steps to security.
Two suitcases, ticket agent. 150 steps to security.
She hand the ticket over. 150 steps still.
“Seattle it is. Checking luggage?”
Shake of a head. 150 steps. C’mon…
“Have a nice flight, ma’am!”
Quick moving. Get past security, everything is safe.
Lin got in line. 30 steps to security.
Panic. 10 steps. Load the conveyor, get the shoes off.
“LIN! You get back here right now!”
Walk through the scanner. No beeps. 5 feet to freedom.
She grabs her things, looks back at her tormentor, and walks to her outbound plane.
No news, just Fictioneers:
© Jan Wayne Fields
I’m Holding My Own
by Miles H. Rost
“Mitch, how long have you been living out here for?”
“Well, Sheena threw me out about two and a half years ago, and I didn’t find this place until the fall. I’d probably say almost two years now.”
The man took a long draught of his brew, looked around at Mitch’s “home”.
“And you like it here?”
“Yeah. I go to work for 8 hours, then come home to nature.”
“What about heat?”
“Sleeping bag, and if necessary, a good woman.”
The man took another long draw from his bottle.
“I have what I need right here. I am quite content.”