A.G.E's Joint

I was going to post a story about another bottle blonde teenager making a bad decision, but the thing ever seems to come together. How do you handle failed stories or concepts? Do put them aside and hope they'll work out later? Or do you just kill them and move on? It is one of those dry periods where I can't quite get things to work out. I could blame the phone binging every twenty seconds with a political pitch, or my son's move into his new place (Yay for empty nesting!) But I've put out more with a lot worse going on. I guess I'll just look at this Orangutan. It's better than the Presidential Debate. Or wondering if my saying "Happy Birthday" is just another advertising data point.  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Topic-Failed Stories Hard prompt Use Binging Easy prompt  Data point Pic-Rebecca Gruessendorf Pic guesses; Orangutan, monkey business, balance, nose, why?

 It's Friday and I was at a loss on how to handle the topic this week. Yesterday, I was scrolling around, trying to avoid the subject when a Facebook notification came up for an exhibit called "Tiny Parks Atlanta", which is on display now until Sunday afternoon (10/18/2020). A group called Livable Buckhead organized it to promote green space, they set up the project along   Path400 near Lenox Square. It's a short distance from home and I'd rather spend my day in the sunshine than listening to the political bullshit hitting me from all directions.  The weather was glorious. I found a place to park and spent a minute chatting with the organizers. They explained the concept and how I might vote for my favorite. I made my way up the hill towards Lenox Rd.  42 dioramas were scattered on either side of the path. The theme was to envision the ideal park environment on a small scale. It got its idea from another project called Tiny Doors Atlanta ( #tinydoorsatl ), whe...

  Fluffy clouds hung in the slate sky on the drive home. The colors reminded him of Sarah’s soft eyes on the dock. He relaxed and smiled. How he wished everything could have been different. That Mother hadn’t been such a bitch and pushed him to do what he did. That he’d never met those nasty cops. Sarah was more than a cousin. She was his little sister even though she was three years older. Someone to protect and nurture. Aunt Barb and her mom were dead and she was left with two shattered legs. Mother had to be convinced to take her in. If it had been up to her, Sarah would have gone into foster care. She didn’t want the burden but was forced by the court. Her resentment was palpable, complaining about cleaning the braces and extra food. There had been many times he had taken the hits from Mother, just to keep her away.  But that was in the past. It could never change. It was the day before his tenth birthday when he came home from school and Mother announced they were moving...

The parking lot was dark as he went across it. He heard the roar of the plane as it approached. It sounded like one he'd heard when he was in the military, a bomber. Looming over the roof of the building, the thing turned and dove toward the ground. There was no shockwave on impact, which struck him as strange. Just silence. The fire began under what was left of the nose. It grew exponentially. There was fire, but no heat. The others around him seemed unaffected, more spectators to the wreckage. He sat in wonder... Jimmy's eyes popped open. The same dream every night. Had been since the shop closed.  The bedroom was dark except for the slit in the middle of the curtain. The sound of Kathy's quiet snoring beside him was both soothing and disturbing.  He looked at the clock. 4:16. He knew sleep was gone for the rest of the night. Stay here or get up? He already knew the answer. With a practiced twist, his feet touched lightly and he made his way to the bathroom. He winced at ...

  "Breathe Deep, the gathering gloom..." 5:00 AM. I never had to look. 94-Q always played it the same time Sunday morning. Like Pavlov's dog, the gong seemed to give me energy. The poem matched my mood this morning. The paper drop had been late and I was at least a half-hour behind getting things done. It was humid and I was already sweating. I chug my old car into the open space and shut off the motor. Sunday sunrise wasn't for another hour, but noise didn't matter at Nob Hill. It was the pinnacle of the Swinging Singles lifestyle. 425 units done in a faux Mediterranean style, spread over 16 wooded acres. The parties had made it the place for up and coming image-makers. They were the Young Americans. The parking lot showed what was important, Morgans, Jags, and Mercedes. The only thing it didn't have on its main rival, Riverbend, was a river.  For a sixteen-year-old kid, it was paradise.  Buildings 10 and 11, by the small pool, had 18 customers and the crazie...

 "The baby finally down?" "Yeah, What'cha looking at?" "Some weird video."  "Most of YouTube is weird. How weird are we talking about?"  "A condition called Cotard's Syndrome." "Cotard's what?" "Syndrome. As far as I can tell. This guy, Cotard, woke up one day and thought he had died, even though he was quite alive." "Say what?" "I thought the same thing. Maybe he wasn't happy with who he was?" "I was told you have to be yourself. Everyone else is already taken."  "I think he wanted attention, like an actress who poses with dinosaurs for a movie." "Or the fact your fly is open?" "Oops."  "That's OK. The kids are asleep and I like the view." "Rrrarwww!" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Topic-Jay Sole Pic-Craig Fallon Pic guesses: dinosaur (in blog) Jurassic Park, crunchy, startling, T Rex,...