Steaming up the windows

Stick shift not in my way

Not this time

Cutting a slice of angel cake

Is one way to say it

How long has it been since those days

I dare not say or should I

Never enough room

Did we need it becoming one

Our eyes eating each other alive

Never mind any other move

No one else in the world

Except those who stood outside


Then that knock

On the window it came

We didn’t yet

Oops I was on the keys

Push them through a hairline crack

The window, you know, we had to open it just so

Feel a slight cool breeze


Feel a slight cool breath

Now leave us would you

Where were we…


Oh yes




Shop Talk


It was a send-off bash for an American who was quitting. The owners arranged for everyone to meet at a favorite restaurant that had a nightclub downstairs. I was finally going to get to sample some of this nightlife I’d heard so much about. I’d found the place easily enough and as we were gathered round the table I inquired about a drink, a tall beverage with leaves crammed into the bottom. “Oh it’s a Mojito. Here, it’s really good, have this one!” “Thanks!” I was pleasantly surprised and when we all decided to migrate to the club, were paying the bill and an owner commented she was buying everything but the drinks “that mojito’s hers”, I was surprised again. The stress barrier having been lowered, at the club I did buy a second mojito, maybe a third… anyway, around 2A.M. I was satisfied I’d had enough; decided to catch the metro, head home. As I bade everyone farewell I discovered the trains stop running at 1 and don’t run again until 6. I had no excess cash seeing I’d spent my party allowance, but not to worry I’d thought thanks to a special travel pass so travel was covered. Although I said I’d wait until 6 that didn’t stop a new found friend from jumping to my aid combing out our colleagues for contributions so I could take the bus. Before I had the chance to step out the door another of my co-workers seized the moment to put the moves on me to get me to go home with him, first with a drink – interesting they’d run out of ingredients for a mojito so I’d have to have something else, never heard of that happening before – and then sexy suggestion. Even now just recalling it I can feel his alcohol-soaked breath spray in my hair onto my neck as he stumbled into my ear to whisper, “do you want to?” The entire scenario of what could be flashed before my eyes. I’m a lot older, well not that much but enough, still he was feeling pretty good, sex could be nice but what about when he came-to in the morning? I had an inkling of what he might say and me being me told him, which always throws people (being me), “oh, you don’t want to sleep with me… it’s not a bad idea… look how wasted you are, but you know what…”


What I did and wanted to do anyway was point him in the direction of a woman who I knew wanted him; I’d overheard her talking about him in the ladies room; how about that, yes, girls shop-talk too! He was perplexed yet happy sort-of with that and once he was better situated and they’d left together – he couldn’t help but look back but she was chewing his ear off demanding attention so with barely a glance to remember me by he snapped his head forward – I left to wait for the bus. At the casino across the street the party was still going on. People were in and out, the police were in and out, and once or twice an ambulance pulled up. A group of college students staggering by stopped for directions (yes from me, the other American who had walked around Madrid so much she could be a tour guide, this was their lucky night), did their best to strike up conversation and discovering I was a teacher (I’m that good) decided to practice their English, so I conducted a street side class for those few intoxicated youth of Madrid, which made for a great time as I was discovering the universality of slurring and how it slowed down language enough – in this case being the Spanish I was learning – to understand what was being said. The bus I was supposed to take finally arrived but didn’t want to let me off where I needed, something I was warned might happen – another quirky thing; can’t say you come across many bus drivers who tell you “no, I don’t feel like stopping there” – but by then it wasn’t much longer until 6A.M., so I sat back down on the bench, continued watching the night life, the night become light, appreciated that my friend from Holland had raised 20 euro for me, and reflected on being able to tell people, “I went to a club in Madrid and was up all night”.



Float Trip

Get out she says, I want you out.

Joe just stood there. Now what… This time he’s not willing to lose everything or leave behind things she covets just to pacify. “Pacify what, how does that go, ‘don’t try to figure out a plan, you can’t reason with a headless man’ in this case a woman. How can I do this in a more rational way with an irrational woman whose mood could change like the flip of a switch?” None of this stops friends and family from giving age-old advice “don’t worry about it, it’ll take care of itself”. He hopes as he sits espresso in hand reflecting on what’s come to pass; in a matter of moments fate has been decided… or has it? His usefulness came to an end and he’s now outdated. “One door closes another opens, another wise-old-sagely goody, but it’s hard to see what that new door will be. What will it bring?” Suddenly an air of relief tries to enter, a breath of fresh air, hope, possibility. He can feel it as if it were a breeze but in a split second it’s gone. It all seems so dead. It is death but Joe wants life to go on preferably with her… and his stuff.

Walking Through Spiderweb



It felt like plastic netting only soft. She felt the ridges on her skin and heard the zzzip like rolling rrrrrs as she passed. She thought of spiders quickly glancing up but the web wasn’t damaged glistening in the sun in a single rough-edged sheet. She ran her fingers through her hair and shook off her clothing just in case. No trespassers. “Onward”.


He came to pick up his son. At the daycare the front doorbell rang but she was busy with two year olds in the back room. He appeared in the doorway she looked up surprised, and glanced him up and down as he did her. “We’re dressing alike. This isn’t good; some kind of freaky. I’m an alpha. We’d argue about who’s in charge. Could be fun. Funny how people think.”


“She’s an alpha” drifted through her mind. “She needs more love than others.” He stood at the far end of the classroom signing his son out. He looked back. Looking ahead but just past him she caught his full image. “We’re dressing alike. Pastels and white.” She smiled as she walked toward Little Hercules who’d taken the plastic broom and bent the handle in half. He was trying to get it to flip up and down…



Nothing To Do With Boston



“Out of the 13 children at daycare his son was one of them making for an interesting dilemma. His wife, or ex-wife, dropped the kids off in the morning and dad could be depended on to pick them up always demonstrating what a loving father he was.”



“That’s a better start than trying to come up with something about the Tea Party” Şaron thought. “Which reminds me…” She opened her Create Space folder. The entry read: “It’s the 4th – Yay America, though we still have plenty of Queens (we like them better), Moët and Chandon notwithstanding; Indians didn’t do it.”




This Week’s Prompt: “…The 13…”



100 Word challenge for grown ups – Week#158





She’d done it. Bought the high-end stuff no turning back. With the lemon wedged and salt at the ready, she opened the box, removed the wrapper around the cap and broke the seal. “Seal, angels of death, Armageddon, humph…”

Using care she aligned crystals along the purlicue, admiring the curved precision she filled the shooter with the other hand and breathed it in. The scent was overpowering as she teased salt to coat her tongue, filled her mouth with liquid biting down on a wedge as she swallowed.


Eyes closed, she fell back into cushions and exhaled.





The prompt this week is:

…the scent was overpowering…


Grandma’d Always Said Never Skimp


Mattia was in the kitchen. I didn’t know her, not yet anyway but I would over time. Wasn’t worried. We’d met at the interview about the room and she was enthusiastic about me moving in. Took it as a good sign remembering what the agent’d said about good karma – she’d sensed good karma when she spoke to both of them about the rental. Her other flatmate was a sweetheart. Spoke lousy English but a sweetheart.


When I came in she’d just finished cooking for herself, had her plate and was about to go to the table in the other room as I’d begun unpacking my groceries. Guess curiosity got the better of her. I put dinner napkins I’d bought on the top of the fridge, noticing she paused, put her plate down, put her napkin away, reached up, grabbed the package, opened it and took a napkin. As far as I knew my mouth hadn’t dropped open as I watched. After putting the package back, she picked up plate and utensils and continued on not saying a word. I’ll have to admit I was surprised she didn’t ask but for the sake of diplomacy I didn’t say anything. It’s not uncommon for dry goods such as napkins, paper towels, dish detergent and toilet paper to be used and replaced by all who share the house or apartment. It wasn’t mentioned during our first meeting though so I later spoke to her offering money toward household goods. Oddly she was aloof as she brushed at the air with her hand. Huh? It was explained most everything they used came from their store. If I wanted to use something different I’d have to buy it on my own. Well yeah, that’s normal, most of us have our favorite products but the topic of sharing was glossed over and my offer flippantly dismissed. Flippantly, that was it. Didn’t make much sense. An alarm was stirring but I distracted myself thinking of the location, the boutique across the street, the subway stop on the corner, the massive El Corte Ingles two blocks away and that restaurant, oh, what was its name that served eggs benedict located right near the train station. Still I’d felt I hadn’t even been here for five minutes, something’s not right yet, but I’ll keep an eye on things, mine in particular.

At the same time I was annoyed with myself even thinking like that.

It’s true what ever I make I usually Italianize, but does that mean the incense burning in the living room with the stove fan turned on in the kitchen immediately after I cook imply they don’t like Italian, or I should say she doesn’t? I can’t say I’ve met many people in my lifetime who didn’t go for Italian food. Not impossible though.


Something’s brewing

The soup is stirred

Quiet observant

Say not a word



Honestly! I’m being absurd.