Keith Merritt
Bio
When I get home from work tonight my dog Bear, will come running down the driveway in the dark to greet my car. He will be whining and squealing, and wagging his tail. nothing else matters. keithmerritt-writer.weebly.com/ see more writing
Stories (4/0)
Inside the Head
The set is moving. There are animatronics. No one told me there’d be animatronics. A rabbit with a busted plaster ear eternally chases cabbages, which are inexplicably spinning, spinning. A tiny farmer, armed with a pitchfork ( a real pitchfork, mind you, on a children’s set—madness. ) a farmer futilely tries to defend his garden. One of his arms looks like it was broken and set wrong; it sticks out at a weird angle. There is fake green grass, little white picket fences, a shed with a big ornate garden chair for kids to sit and pose with the Easter Bunny. There are no kids yet. One young guy is manning the fort.
By Keith Merritt3 years ago in Journal
The Luckiest Man in the World
2/6/2006 Vegas. The beautiful blond let me light her cigarette, and then said “Look slow, you can only see something for the first time once.” I watched her walk away down the street, and she looked as good going as she did coming. Immediately as she turned the corner, I pulled out my Moleskin notebook and flipped it open, writing down before it faded, the words she had said. That’s the magic of words, of paper, of pen. Something magical happens and you capture a bit of it, just a bit of it, forever
By Keith Merritt3 years ago in Humans
