Three Short Shorts

by Chris Drew




Tiger’s den of sin pinned between chips of concrete like little plaques, there to remind us of all the donors to this project. Scarred for life. Turning my change over in my pocket. Rifling. Polishing it. Waiting to get busted. Get a whole troop at once. Total streamline light off the slick clouds. Impervious rainbows all over. Really feeling it now. Touching my arm. I am yelling.

Yelling. Don’t communicate. They are screaming at each other. They want to kill me anyway. More are coming. I guess they would have been better off if they had killed me, they could have, and I don’t know if I feel sorry about that, but I do feel happy.
I slam my head into the ground. It triggers the charge. The extra 50 kilos I’ve been carrying around detonates.


The Optimist

In this heat everything looks like it is melting. All the kids faces look twice as melted. How do kids faces get so dirty? When do people start learning to keep their face, in a basic way, I am not asking too much, just like a level of awareness about the face that prompts you to remove things you generally have no need for that get stuck on it, as one might treat a sweater. I guess it comes about the same time kids start caring about their sweaters.

The heat brings them out though. Kids and adults. They know it will be cooler when the sun goes down and even if it is just a few degrees difference, even if it is a temperature they might call hot nine times out of ten, it will feel unimaginably welcomed.

We will have some business tonight for sure. Hopefully some.

I started my stand a few years ago. The summer fair circuit is huge, but the fun gigs are the occasional estate auctions, and farmers markets. I lost a contract to work with the tri-state roller derby league. That would have been lucrative and exciting, but we’ll get them next time. Things are starting to bloom.  

People are discovering a secret passion for this type of nostalgia, so much fades so quickly these days. It is important to refocus our attention in interesting ways so that we can really think about our possessions. Just whatever, ya know?

I sell autographed baseballs, old rotary phones, knives, lighters, gameboys, hats, and about anything you could name.

Some people bring their own items. I’m cool with that.

The fryer is plenty big.


Places I Can Walk to

Six concrete steps. A white door. Gold plastic door knob. A metal folding chair. An evergreen. A street that becomes a one-way. A vacant lot. Brand new apartments. A five-story university building. An old armory. Its front lawn. Another university building. A Dorm. Gas station. Accountants. Optometrists. Chiropractors. A bar, a bar; another bar. A pizza place. A court house. A movie theatre. A sushi place. Two chinese places. A sandwich shop. A flower shop. Three banks. Three resale shops. A head shop. Two coffee shops. A post office. A police station. At least one catholic church. At least four different protestant churches. A fire station. At least three lawyers. A psychiatrist. A hospital. A liquor store. An abandoned train bridge. A cemetery. A non-profit community art gallery. A non-profit community music venue. City hall. A basketball court. A park.

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