(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.
(Author’s note: I haven’t been to many people’s blogs lately. I haven’t been doing comments. Work has been very tough, and tiredness is a problem. I’m therefore changing some of my habits. I hope to be a bit more…focused coming forth. Starting this week. Now…JUMP!)
(look to your left, it’s right there.)
by Miles H. Rost
Racquon Phillips was surrounded. A brick wall of a man in front of him, a tall lanky weirdo covering on his left.
He himself was six feet tall, but these guys were massive. He didn’t know if he could get the shot off.
“Get ahead and jump!”
Racquon faked left, but no one moved. He was about to move when he saw the hand come straight from the left.
He jumped, and let the ball loose. It arced up, looking large as it approached the backboard.
Everyone stared as it started descending, hit the rim, and then…
(Care to find out? Why don’t you end it! I’d love to see what you all think!)