A.G.E's Joint

The diner could have been anywhere. This one was found while driving around East Jesus, New York. At least that's what this town seemed like to her. Thirty miles to go on the road trip from Hell. Traffic had been light on the overnight run.  Hot coffee wouldn’t hurt. Crossing the border during the busy part of the day was her plan, the guards wouldn’t ask questions. Debbie stumbled out of the car, dragging food wrappers along the way. The place was like the scarier areas in the desert, except colder. The parking lot was almost empty. A puddle reflected the snow-laden sky and the motel vacancy sign. Shivering, she pulled her jacket tighter and stepped in the door. Pink and white decorations dotted the counters, the remains of a Valentine party the night before. An ancient Wurlitzer  jukebox played caterwauling country tunes. Bacon, and the promise of more, tickled her nose. A big-haired waitress chewing gum nodded toward a line of stools against the front window. She went to the

"Daddy?" "Yes, Emmy."  "Why do you always drive when we go somewhere? "Because your Daddy gets car sick if he doesn't," Mommy said before he could answer. That wasn't the answer she expected. Daddy laughed. "Hey, I only did it that one time." "And it took Mom and me a week to get the smell out of her car." Mommy shot back. "She wasn't happy with us at all." Emily had to agree with the smell. She always hated it when she threw up in the car. It burned the back of her throat. But she didn't do that anymore now she was seven. The Reunion with Mommy's cousins had been fun. It was at some old Aunt's farm that Emily had never heard of. Charlie seemed to like it. Well, as much as a baby could. At least he didn't scream the whole time. He'd smile at people when they poked and gibbered at him. There is something about a baby that makes people act funny. Aunt Pam and Grandma w

Emily noticed the house was empty when they came in from the yard. Pulling a twig out her ponytail, she asked "Where's Grandma?" "She took Charlie to the store with her so we could work." "Oh, OK." They were sweaty, dirty, and deliriously happy after their morning work. Kathy was proud of her yard and looked forward to each spring. When she was a little girl, she followed her Mom around to the nurseries. The acrid smell of fertilizer thrilled her. Putting her apron of cuttings on the table, she admired them. Everything was blooming early this year. She had expected it, though. The winter had been warm and wet. Emily circled behind her and squealed in delight. "Momma! They're so pretty." "Yes, Emmy, they are." Her eyes scrunched as she kissed the dirty forehead. It smelled like manure. Her mom had said you can't have pretty without some ugly and bad smells turn sweet. She couldn't disagree, but this child

So, I'm burning up another one of my notes drafts this week. I hope it works since I got a nice little pop-up saying it wasn't updated to the New Facebook. Well, Duh. I know that.  I'm looking out my window waiting for the  rains to come  and wash out all the pollen, but the lead clouds are just staying put.  I'm kind of throwing in the towel this week on any kind of coherent story. I thought about rewriting an old Kari Summers piece called "Michael", part of which takes place in New Orleans when rains came and  the levees broke . But after reading it, I decided it was going to need too much work to get it done in time.  Then I thought about doing a Devil's Quill segment where Marty Mammon gets in over his head with the Lucky 19 Covid Plague script he launched. But I didn't think this was a good time for gallows humor, which I know it would devolve into. Sometimes it is all you have available.  It's been a week of sadness and loss.