This is my psychiatrist's couch. Take from it what you will.
But do leave a note.
I still am a late middle aged former government worker marking time until the cliff.
Short Fiction, Doggerel and Insensitive Opinion are spoken here.
Every time you comment, an angel gets its wings. If you like what you see, please follow and share.
Sunday, December 31, 2017
Moonshadow (Blogophilia 44.10)
Funny thing about Google searches. You start down one path and you find yourself in a world you never expected. Seems as though Turtle Boy may have been on to something. In the last several months, several writers had disappeared, one after another. One of the more puzzling was a guy named Dave, writing dispatches from the Snowy Badlands. Most people found his folksy humor endearing and his audience looked forward to his stuff every week.
One day, Dave’s empty Stetson was found on the grounds of the Arboretum outside St. Paul, with no indications on where he went. No witnesses or evidence was left behind. His car was still at his residence along with all of his belongings. A missing person’s report went into the round file, since he was (supposedly) an adult and there was no indication of foul play. A rumor he was feeding loons in Lake Woebegone circulated, but no one really believed that. Nothing had come up until I stumbled on a cryptic message from the Northwoods indicating the Aurora was involved. The date was the same as when Trevor’s sheep vanished. I needed confirmation.
I dug through my notes for T.B.’s contact. Picking it up on the first ring, he agreed to meet me in a seedy bar on the west side. One of those places where you do what you don’t confess. It took a minute to pick him out of the smoke, seated at a table with his back to the wall, Michaelagelo shirt this time. In front of him was a Blue Moon pizza. That puzzled me. That shop was clear across town. The barmaid looked at us like she was going to throw us out, but I ordered a couple of Third Coast ales and wings. She went away.
The place was so loud it was hard to keep up with T.B.’s patter. But the gist of what he said was a space ship was involved in all the disappearances, including the one at the Mystic Joleene’s.
Funny, He’d never give me a chance to tell him about that. I wonder.
But before I could ask, a cute girl in a black dress pulls me up off my chair for Karaoke. As we approach the stage, I try to tell her I sing like a frog.But her patchouli perfume overwhelms my senses. All I can think about is what is under the dress.
Never say never, I guess.
The song started. “Long Cool Woman”. That was fitting. As I croaked the words, a short dude comes waddling into the bar, wearing a leather jacket with a wool fleece collar. Something was very familiar about him.