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Why yes, it is Friday again. This week’s image, a vision of vintage glamour, should conjure all manner of stories. Intrigue? Mystery? It’s up to you and you need only 100 words.
I’ll start with a story …
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“Spend money to make money” Da used to say.
So the Chinese-red dress I wore was real silk and lace-topped stockings winked through the slit. My stole was silver fox and I had paid well the girl who had done magic with my dark hair.
Da had traveled the Orpheum Circuit, card tricks and sleight-of-hand.
“Make the mark look where you want him to.”
I laughed remembering Da and the man I had advanced on, the stole slipping, leaning in, letting him see just how low the top of my dress really was …
The teller hadn’t stood a chance
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Now, it’s your turn.
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featured image is in the public domain and can be viewed or downloaded here
Garland Twiity says: We had spent most of the day cleaning the barns.
And although our bodies ached, a sense of smug satisfaction
permeated the air as we noted the tidiness of the
stalls. “There is a dance in town tonight,” she murmured
casually. “Be fun.”
An autumn sun was low in the sky as we left the yard and stepped into the
country kitchen. Leftover black beans, rice, and sausage came out
of the fridge and onto the stove.
Later, after showering and changing, I waited at the table for her. When
she appeared at last, all I could manage was “woof.”
Garland Twitty says: REPOSTING
We had spent most of the day cleaning the barns. And although our bodies ached,
a sense of smug satisfaction permeated the air as we
noted the tidiness of the stalls.
“There is a dance in town tonight,” she murmured casually. “Be fun.”
An autumn sun was low in the sky as we left the
yard and stepped into the country kitchen. Leftover black beans,
rice, and sausage came out of the fridge and onto the stove.
Later, after showering and changing, I waited at the table for her. When
she appeared at last, all I could manage was “woof.”
Andrew says: I had the physics book to guide me as I watched the tiki torches. The mystery of fire was simply the mystery of electronic transitions.
But she unexpectedly joined me on the balcony, closing the door on the party noise. She sat next to me. Quietly she looked me in the eyes.
“Um, I just understood today what the light from fire is,” I said, stupidly.
“Oh?” she asked. But she didn’t mean it. She’s leaning toward me now. And only the voices of the 10,000 ancient prophets to guide me.
Brian Brandt says: There’s a song he always asked for on the juke box every time he came in here. The one by Frank Sinatra – you know – the one with ‘The conversation with the flyin’ plates.’ He’d sit and ask for that song and say “Leave the bottle, Jimmy.” And then when it got late and wasn’t too busy he’d talk about how a woman who was married six times could still have such a hold on him. ‘Course it was actually seven, but seein’ as how two of ‘em in a row was to him he figured he had dibs on those other guys.
He never did see the last one to that guy she met in rehab. He was dead by then. I always figured that bottle would kill him, and it did. But, man, that guy loved that woman.
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