Regeneration (50 of 50)

Sometimes you forget that everyone didn’t grow up in Miami, didn’t worry about getting stung by a man-of-war or scorpion, didn’t have mango and tangerine trees in the yard and didn’t have to board up the house every year or two for a hurricane. Nor did they break coconuts, nor gasp when they grabbed a lizard and came up with only a detached tail which they dropped still writhing on the hot pavement. Nor did they see the lizards in your jar, particularly the one with the tail stub and the pale tip of a light new tail poking out.

The Privateer (49 of 50)

Thomas looked from the shore to his brother. Frederick, wide eyes glistening with the firelight, looked back at him for a moment of suspended time. They broke into a run and, upon reaching the shore, brushed past a small group of quarrelling men and hopped into their small boat. Thomas grabbed the oars and with a few strokes they were on their way. Some of the boats had just reached the schooner, the Caspar, and were endeavoring to climb aboard. Small arms fire echoed and the water plunked beside them. Frederick fumbled with a powder bag and his pistol.

A Page From Your Book (From Meaninglessness and Its Discontents)(48 of 50)

The column of smoke surprises the echo of your charm. You would have been elegant in your prime, had your prime been there when you arrived. But, as it is, it’s lucky me, because only I can put you in the right context. I’ve always admired columns of smoke. It surprises me how orderly a fire can be on a still day with no ceiling to spoil it. If I digress, it’s just an echo of your charm. You tore a page from your book and wrote me a note like this. In fact, you wrote me this note. Thanks.

From The Further Adventures of Orson Orsen Chandler (47 of 50)

“Sit, sit,” he motioned me to remain seated. He didn’t sit. Six-foot-three and about fifty years old, he was dressed in a blue shirt and tie, black pants and black sandals. Big Boy stood in the doorway beside him. “I’m sorry that I’ve brought you here this way; powerlessness isn’t pleasant, is it? Do you believe in freedom, Mr. Chandler?” After a thoughtful moment I “I’m sorry, I can’t figure out why you’d ask me such a stupid question.” Ten seconds later I was hanging over the edge of the boat, grateful that Big Boy had really strong hands.

Wing Boy in Little or No Character (46 of 50, 100 word post)

Wing Boy’s house was the only house between the Jewish Cemetery and what used to be the Pet Superstore. Wing Boy’s house was so isolated because Wing Boy’s father, Joel Anderson Thomas, refused to sell to the developer that made the strip mall that was anchored by the now defunct Pet Superstore. The developer offered Jat, as he was called, twice what his home was worth, but Jat would not budge. “If that’s how you want to live, well, then have a good life”, the exasperated developer finally told Jat. And by all accounts Jat had had a good life.

The Privateer (45 of 50, 100 word post)

He followed his brother, Frederick, through the darkening wood. Over the rustle and crunch of hidden feet, his heart beat large in his chest.
The sound of surf rose among the rising tide of the now grumbling crowd and the sky lightened. He pushed through a pair of bushes and stepped onto the beach, the sand blue in the general gloaming, red in the halos around the crackling fires. One hundred yards out to sea, a British revenue schooner had run aground and the people of Warvey, Rhode Island climbed into anything that floated and headed out, meaning them no good.

The Further Adventures of Orson Orsen Chandler (44 of 50, 100 word post)

I had been sitting in the stateroom of the yacht for ten minutes. It was dim and cool, just like me and the rocking of the sea no longer nauseated me. In fact it kind of relaxed me, which explains why I wasn’t properly petrified. That situation was rectified in a hurry at the first sight of my host and his companion. The eagle came first. I don’t know if you’ve seen the claws of a really big predatory bird, but the sight combined with the full bodied flutter of its wings got my attention. Then came the Big Man.

Small Sufferings (44 of 50, 100 word post)

Small sufferings.
The feeling can be outrageous.
The dedication to the complications,
From the pulling of the strings.

I have begun to resent your action verbs.
I understand how random you’ve become.

I clear my throat
Because that’s important.

A butterfly lands on a leaf and his wings open and close
Not fully folding or extending
So slowly as if great power is being harnessed
As if

All something I scrape off the concrete.
After the strings break.

The sky can be a blue of bliss
Let’s say the sky is a blue of bliss
And go on our way.

Wing Boy in Little or No Character (43 of 50, 100 word post)

This is the story of Wing Boy. I’m going to give you a few minutes to think about how Wing Boy got his name (Did he earn it or was he born with it?) while I tell you a little about who Wing Boy was before he became Wing Boy. It's a good way to show you just how reliable I will be.
Wing Boy was born John George Thomas in a small Midwestern town, in his parents’ house between the Jewish Cemetery and what used to be the pet superstore. From the start his name caused him great distress.

Tough Sell (42 of 50, 100 word post)

“He’s a wonderful child, honestly. Wonderful. It’s a shame he’s not yet been taken home. You can see how healthy and attractive the young man is. No, I’m sorry, I don’t believe it would be wise to put your fingers in his mouth. Well, for one thing it’s very unsanitary. Show him your teeth Peter. One moment Mr. Peterson. As you can see Mr. Peterson, good strong, healthy teeth. No, sir I never meant to imply you were unsanitary, it’s just that the boy can become unexpectedly, and uncontrollably…carnivorous, at which time any meat, dead or alive, may be…in peril.”

Laurel and Hardy (41 of 50, 100 word post)

I remember my Uncle interrupting a conversation I was having about comedy teams by interjecting “Laurel and Hardy!” It is incidental that he was likely quite elegantly drunk as was his custom, because his warm smile came from the substance, not the circumstances, of his comment. The gentle, nostalgic satisfaction, combined with the indisputable confidence of his delivery stuck with me, even though I’m sure my worship of the Marx Brothers led me to dismiss him with a superiority reserved for the passionately young. Now, at my advanced age, and in a state of nearly complete sobriety, I agree.