Tag Archives: Lisa
Even (or especially) against where I was even a month ago, I see how lucky I have been. The past month has been very good to me. (Maybe this is why today is no longer filled with dread a small voice speaks). Continue reading
I went deeper into the room as Lisa went to check out the master bath. She opened the door and there was a blood-curdling scream. It seems we were not asl alone as we thought we were! The owners were still there, one in bed, and his wife in the bathroom.
“Out of my house!,” she was screaming at us. Continue reading
The machine was now under its own power, and I could let up on the starter. The sharp quivers of the start-up faded away into a smooth, soothing hum as the main motors came online. Lisa was already in the captain’s chair, ready to fly us out. And perhaps that was a little dishonest, taking our ship like this. But there was no one to check out with. And it was part of our original deal here.… we had not pawned our flying saucer, just sort of lent it to him. Continue reading
The cost and implications of changing the viaduct to an overpass was studied, committeed, investigated, briefed, rebudgeted, open-housed and town-halled ad infinitum, with no decisive conclusion ever drawn. So, like any good idea over-thought, nothing was done or changed; the dip remained a legacy to bureaucratic indecisiveness that cost Utahans in every storm ever since. Ultimately, we– the men and women looking at the accident from the embankment on the side– made the decision not to fix the flooded viaduct in front of us. We would not fund the fix, nor force the nameless, faceless, spineless pen pushers to be responsible and do the right thing. Continue reading
I have no real drive to smoke this cigarette at all, but I smoke it anyway. It tastes good, and I can feel the power of the nicotine coursing through my veins. I like it, it feels great, it feels like old times. I am scared because I like it so much. Bonnie comes over to me and offers me a cigarette. I decide to grab one for later… in fact, I grab two. Bonnie is surprised. Continue reading
The scissors cut some, but other treads just slipped through the blades. Many of the strings were snarled with strands from other seams, too. My shorts were a tangled mess of threads from everywhere. The more fiber I sliced with the nearly-worthless scissors, the more I found I needed to cut. Continue reading