Moving to Key West became a cabby has been the best three months. Interesting people, good pay, hot summers, tourism at its peak. I’m glad to be in the cab out of the heat. Hearing stories of strange Florida yet nothing crazy has happened. Floridas not that full of crazy encounters.
Every-other weekend i always get a call from a bar or nightclub for a pick up. It’s midnight the middle of august ninety degrees outside with the humidity pumpin’. There’s a call from sidebar nightclub. I could hear the urgency in picking up these three. I was only a few blocks away luckily.
shuttering thinking It was luck. Lucky for everybody else. Escorted out by security. Still unsure what happened with what they were wearing as they were escorted out I could only imagine. Regret should have been setting in.
Drunk desperately in need of clothing they piled in. Living with five gay men in youth didnt provide enough grit did for this. Unbeknownst at the time i drive off.
This couldn’t be happening kept echoing in my head the whole three mile drive of hell in a half shell. Wearing leather traps barely covering the jungles down under. Moaning increasing fearing to looking back. They said call me papi, ooh touch it touch it! Hearing Slay it baby, mmm! In between all the moaning, I truly assuming the worst. I had to stop it! turned out to be a bdsm date night for abstinence in chasity belts. Awkward!
Thanks for the challenge oneg, and thanks for the tag
Was definitely a challenge that took me a while to skim down due to getting carried away.
I’m going to tag this creator I just stumbled upon his poem panic so vivid a picture did it paint!
About the Creator
Sarah urffer
Let words find you with a fun and playful creativeness.
I have some older works I’ll be adding including new creations as well. I do hope you enjoy them. I wish there was a feedback section 😜
Keep reading
More stories from Sarah urffer and writers in Fiction and other communities.
The curious case of a miss white
This story begins far away in a land with a very enchanting forest. Although this forest was exceptionally beautiful, their lies a dark secret unspoken by most. There was certainly something very suspicious going on at the whites palace. A happy kindom this used to be. Now with an erie shroud, and no one has seen the lovely Miss Snow White.
By Sarah urffer9 months ago in Fiction
Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
By Lamar Wiggins3 days ago in Fiction
"The Stranger in the Mirror"
The Stranger in the Mirror Emily stared at her reflection, her eyes scanning every inch of her face. She had always been meticulous about her appearance, but today, something was off. The eyes that stared back at her seemed...different. The shape, the color, the sparkle – everything was familiar yet foreign. She rubbed her eyes, thinking it was just a side effect of the lack of sleep, but when she opened them again, the stranger was still there.
By Isra Saleem3 days ago in Fiction
My To Be Read List
I have been taking some time away from writing. I haven't forgotten about Vocal, the truth is I just have been too busy pursuing other things to write online and honestly, my little family and I just had a really hard month between the flu and a weird eye infection/cold circulating our house. I'm currently sipping some warm peppermint tea because my throat is sore.
By Chloe Rose Violet 🌹3 days ago in BookClub
Comments (4)
Ha, This was Great😆❤️😉📝
As I work till 11pm and my city is beyond safe, my cab drivers are always happy to get a generally calm sane person in their car. I talk about health, nutrition, politics and the decline of the school system and how children should go back to the days when we did crafts and played outside
I have had moments of wanting to become a cab-driver, but never did it. I think I wanted to be a driver in a few different areas, but never bit the bullet.....funny how that works. You may also enjoy the following: https://vocal.media/wander/7-exciting-outdoor-adventure-destinations-you-need-to-visit Thank you for your thoughts.
Good work!