My life as a cautionary tale.
Our story to this point When last we saw our intrepid hero (me), things were going poorly for him, and he had just been shanghaied and was on his way to "meet the rest of the Crips." (Read Part 1) So, I had to admit it, things were looking a little grim. I had a Crip …
Continue reading Ridin’ Dirty — The Crips Carjacking Story. Part 2
Trembling over her, afraid to touch, Marcus never saw her face. Her chestnut hair is what he’ll remember. And the crimson nimbus of blood spreading across the asphalt. She had barely squeezed into the last space ahead of him. The tail car of the accelerating trolley, snapping around the corner, flung her carelessly from the …
“Make love to me,” she murmurs clinging desperately to his fragile stability amongst the raging chaos. She’s in the best shape of her life. Better than when they were madly in love. Body fat down to nothing, long legs toned from daily ten-mile walks trying to escape herself, breasts like rare fruit enticingly within reach. …
For those who don't know me, I was once young and dumb (as opposed to the current old and dumb version), which led me to make a questionable decision back in the day that resulted in a very memorable car ride that became the Crips carjacking story. As those who read my blog may have …
Continue reading Ridin’ Dirty — The Crips Carjacking Story. Part 1
The young guy was fired up. Not at me. But at Arabs. He was Hispanic American and he let me know in no uncertain terms that he hated Arab Uber drivers. He lives in an apartment complex, and, apparently, they have canceled on him a few times when they couldn't find his apartment and he couldn't …
Continue reading Staring at Death — A Tale of Two Passengers
Ask a man who has been in a relationship for awhile if women influence men positively. You'll probably get a guy who secretly yearns for his days of freedom as a carefree bachelor able to do whatever it is that crosses his mind -- even if it's just sitting around in his underwear eating Doritos. But …
You took my hand, and we slipped away from Karen’s party like we’d known each other forever. Later, I scribbled down my number, then a lingering, predawn kiss at your front door. All week I lived on memories. Brown, pliable curves and wine-dark nipples stiffening under the brush of my fingertips. My phone sat stubbornly …
“Thanks,” he croaks. His unnatural gyrations are freaking me out. I ease the car into traffic. He babbles about hiding from the police. I’m brimming with a host of different emotions. His right elbow bangs sharply against the passenger window. “Stop thrashing around.” “Sorry,” he mumbles. But he can’t stop, limbs flailing with the frantic …
Spoiler alert. This post is about to get nasty. Delicate souls should stop reading now because no good will come of it. Trust me, you won't be enlightened, just horrified. Now you Schizer fans, well, pull up a chair and make yourselves comfy. *For those of you using the interwebz for investigative purposes and not familiar with what …
Check out Fungible Love, 1986, another piece of micro-fiction from yours truly appearing on www.thedrabble.wordpress.com. For those not familiar with what a drabble is, it's a story told in 100 words or less. Check out their site for new micro-fiction and poetry posted daily. You can also view Fungible Love, 1986 on my site.