Two Cola Settings
Well, we had made it fireside with some colas at the tailest-end of the most August day. Overripened Summer. Only at night could we get a glimpse of fall time big-breathing air. Boylan, a dad, pestered his twelveage daughter, saying: “Rosary, walk over to the cooler to get the sweeter, healthier cola! Sam and Sue have colas in their hands that are not good for them. They have the wrong cola!”
Before Joyful Pianos
I. There were four people. Eric, Isabelle, Money and Joe Sunrise. All of them had grown up. Eric was a Seacoast Guy like a fishing boat. Isabelle was familiar with the beautiful city. Money had a way with knowing zones. Money could remember the details. He knew what to say about what he remembered. As for Joe Sunrise, he was bright as a sailing day.
Gum Drums' Basement
I. Gum Drums’ Scene My scene looked like St. Paul, Minnesota except in my scene none of the buildings had any lights. Also, my town was so damp and so wet. Irretrievably so. My scene’s dampness, on account of the city-wide wet, slowed down everything. In a city of malaise, wet toads, mushrooms, fungus and forest-sized heavy air, myself and the neighbors settled out of every main floor and we fell in love with basements. To put things in a different light, my town was wet. Everybody had chosen to sink and stop like endless dew in the mud. Ours was a seeped-in lot. Uniform slow rot. Brownstone apartments soaking next to Limestone Museums soaking in old, standing water. We had a fire station as slow-moving as a ring of oak. Even as I would go on sitting in my green chair, with the lamp on a stand burning as brightly as it could, with the bright pointed towards my clothes, and even with all the heat I owned, the fabric was never dry enough for me to rest my hands. Foggy fungus and fog mushrooms took root in my head. Along with the rest of my town, I watched night roll in from the bottom of the picture and we went to sleep.