Something Short

   Marshall waited for the countdown to finish. Surrounded by champagne drinking pals, he clutched his own glass of bubbly with a fierce enough grip to shatter it into sand-sized pieces. The television was too loud, the lights in the room too bright, and he was certain somebody had puked underneath the table behind him. Herbal smoke kept finding his nostrils, like an acquaintance that won't take a hint to leave. There were people in this room he despised and likewise who thought of him as no more than gravel on a dirty sidewalk. These were not people he would choose to begin a brand new year with. A new opportunity, a new chance was at hand and the environment around him was unbearably shallow and superficial. But she was here, in his arms, her soft hair and sweet face cradled against his chest like he was the most important man in the world. Marshall was exactly where he wanted to be tonight: wherever she was.     

550 Words A Day Challenge Part XIII: Lemm's Monologue

Part XIII --- Lemm's Monologue


A BAR, decorated for Christmas. Two characters (bar rats) sit on stools with drinks in front of them, while LEMM stands behind the bar, facing the audience. LEMM is dressed in a white dress shirt, black bow-tie and black apron


LEMM: A lotta people ask me around this time of the year: "What're you doing working in this dump? Don't you have friends or family or someone you can spend time with? A pet, maybe?" Well, I've never been able to answer that one. I always just smile and nod and say "I don't mind the work" or "I could use the money" But really, I don't know what the answer is.

One of the bar rats coughs loudly

LEMM: Do I have anyone? Sure, I guess there's my folks. They live just north of town but I hate that bus ride to get up there. Most of my friends go away for the holidays, some go back home and others somewhere warm and tropical. The thought of Christmas Eve on a beach is a little weird to me. Got a cousin who lives here in the city. He indulges in the herbs too much. Usually he doesn't remember my name.

The same bar rat coughs loudly again

LEMM: You want another one Gus?

The bar rat nods. LEMM begins fixing up a drink behind the bar while still facing the audience

LEMM: Yeah, I don't mind working the long hours alone here. Everyone else is where they belong on Christmas Eve and I guess so am I. The people that come here around this time of year are friendly, good hearted people. (one of the bar rats lets out a tremendous belch) I had a girl I'd spend time with a few years back. I remember we spent one Christmas Eve together. I shut down the bar early, she came and met me here, then we went on this walk downtown to the waterfront. There was snow everywhere, it got in our boots! And it was so cold. Wind howling. Didn't seem to care though, neither of us. (LEMM puts the drink he was making in front of the bar rat "GUS") Yeah, happy to be warm tonight though, inside here. Dreadfully cold outside I'm sure. Dreadfully.

The other bar rat puts his head down on the bar and begins to snore, loudly at first but then becomes quieter

LEMM: I've had some great Christmas Eves here, lemme tell ya! Uh, yeah there was last year when old Gus here thought the pool table chalk was a pimento so he put it in his beer! And a couple years ago, old Gus was hungry and had already eaten all the peanuts in the coin machine. So he thought the urinal cakes in the bathroom would make a fine dessert! Ha, oh the fun we've had. Oh the emergency numbers we've called.

LEMM goes quiet for a moment as he reflects upon the stories he just told, though his expression becomes less proud of them the longer he is silent

LEMM: Looks like snowfall outside. How about that. Hmmmmm. Probably nice by the water tonight. Hey Gus, what time you got? Almost 8:30, right?

Bar rat "GUS" nods

LEMM: All right! Last call everyone! Take your time but I'm closing early tonight! Happy holidays!


CURTAIN
  

550 Words A Day Challenge Part XII: Viva Los Holidads!

Part XII --- Viva Los Holidads!


'Come on Jimmy open it up!'

It was Christmas morning in the Faulkes household and the entire family was there. Young, middle-aged and old all gathered in a circle around ten year old Jimmy, who was first to open his presents.

'Hurry up, Smelly! We'd like to open our gifts too!' groaned Jimmy's older brother Craig.

Without delay Jimmy grabbed his first present and tore the wrapping to shreds. It was from his mother: a brand new baseball mitt. Jimmy's parents were journalists and unfortunately were on assignment in Belgium this Christmas, but Jimmy looked out the window and thanked them whether they were.

'Open mine next, Jimmy!' said Uncle Rodgess.

Jimmy found his uncle's gift conveniently atop the others, immaculately wrapped and taped. Ten year old children however are not known for precision when opening gifts, especially during winter holidays. Jimmy ripped it open and was incredibly excited: it was a video game.

'Spelling Blaster 3000!' said Uncle Rodgess happily. 'The lady in the store said it's what every cool kid is playing!'

Jimmy's excitement vanished instantly but he put on a grateful face and thanked his uncle. Next was a present from his little sister, Didi. It was not well taped or wrapped, instead several crayon marks were all over it. Jimmy let the wrapping fall off and found a plastic doll with an arm missing, the remaining limbs also covered by crayon. He smiled at his little sister, who tried to clap her tiny hands but fell over onto the carpet.

'You're going to love my gift, Jimmy.' declared his Auntie Carol.

Old enough to know a clue, Jimmy found her present and opened it next. It was a brownish-green sandwich sealed not tightly in a ziploc bag. Jimmy looked up at his aunt, confused.

'It's an organic eggs, beets and vine sprout sandwich!' said Auntie Carol proudly
'It's smells funny...' said Jimmy, looking over the greenish parts of it.
'That's flavour, Jimmy Wimmy! One bite of that will add years to your life! And make you look so much younger too!'

Jimmy smiled politely and grabbed his next present. It was from his older brother Craig and in an envelope.

'I.O.U: "One punch in the arm." Hey what does that... Ow!'

Rubbing his shoulder, Jimmy set his eyes on a present from Uncle Gerald, although now he insisted the family call him Hanzel-Singh-De-Candalario-Singh-Sundah-Flowers. Jimmy opened his eccentric uncle's present, disappointed to find the same book his uncle gave him every year.

'Humanity's Place In The Cosmic Scheme of Singhism. What a... surprise...' groaned Jimmy.
'Absolutely!' said Uncle Gerald, oblivious to the look of crushed enthusiasm on his nephew's face. 'You see, Jimmy, there's a powerful, all mighty force out there that has a plan for all of us. You, me, the trees, the sea, Sean Bean. All of us. And have you ever wondered about--'
'Gerald! Enough! It's bad enough we have to listen to you. Leave the kid out of this...' said Auntie Carol sharply.

Jimmy did not like being called a kid and as he realized he had reached his last present his heart was damp with unhappiness. It was from his father: another envelope, which made Jimmy even more uncomfortable as his shoulder still stung from the last one. He opened it and found only a letter and four small cards inside. Jimmy read to himself:

'Hey son. I know it's hard on you with your mom and I away so much but here's something to make your days a little better. In this envelope are four cards that you can use at anytime for whatever you want, ice cream or pizza or whatever. Show it to your Auntie Carol or your Uncle Rodgess and they'll know. Use them wisely and know that we love you so much! Love: Mum and Dad.

Jimmy read the letter twice to let it all sink in for him. After that, he took one of the cards from the envelope, took a look at the green sandwich and knew what he wanted.

'Oh Auntie Carol...'



    



    

550 Words A Day Challenge Part XI: The Wind At My Back

    The rarest sight for any cyclist is when the tree branches are pointing away from you. That is, when a strong wind is pushing you in just the direction you're going.
    This wind is so rare that all veteran cyclists are automatically suspicious of any breeze they encounter. It takes them a moment to realize this wind is not like the ones they battle fifty-one weeks of the year: here comes not a foe but a friend. Even when the sensation comes it is mistrusted, for memories of the opposite are always fresher in experience.
   The mindset becomes different when being escorted through town by breezes. It is the sudden relief of support and the startling fear of lacking control. It is like being taken by the hand into a television studio and watching a clone of yourself do the work you were about to do. It is like watching a home run sail over the fence while you stand at second base. It is like being shoved in the back by nature, but it's just the shove you need and you don't mind several more.
   It is the dream that doesn't come when you sleep, and in waking is the absent deity.

   ------------------

   I've sometimes felt that the strength of the wind with or against you suggests the nature of the path you are taking. Often it seems as though the destination becomes more challenging by the block: complications of the place and people, the safety shortcomings of your ride, reasons why you would never have left your house, all thoughts that gain force in your mind as the winds grow in fierceness.
   I remember one night I was set to ride across town to meet some friends of mine who were finishing work. They were in the Annex while I at the time lived in the western side of Toronto, so it was a ride that promised to be rough regardless of conditions. Still, the promise of some beers with good company was enough for me to pedal onward. It wasn't until I got to the first hill, an underpass wedged between Keele and Old Weston that the gusts hit me. Riding against a hard wind is like trying to walk through a sandy beach with the enormous hand of a god pushing you backwards. By the time I reached the top of the hill I was already exhausted, and I could still see the closest intersection to my house.
   Being brave or foolish, probably both, I kept going. The wind would have none of that. I came upon another hill and began descending, only to realize the force against me was so strong I actually had to pedal to get down the slope. That was enough: I turned my wheels right around and let the spearhead of the breeze nudge me back the way I came.
   As it turned out, the friends I was going to meet up with that night got into a pretty heated altercation with each another. Had I put my head down and forced my way through the unreasonable winds I would've been rewarded with an awkward situation at best. The moral of this tale? If something is hard, give up! Nah, I'm kidding. This is just a tale, oblivious to any personal experiences you may have. Like a hard wind there is nothing with a motive here. We may think it's always against us (I know I do!) but it is simply a force of nature, perhaps sometimes paralleling our present existence. 
        

550 Words A Day Challenge Part X: Mundrake's Monologue

Part X --- Mundrake's Monologue


     A most peculiar thing happened to me on my way to work this morning: an incident which I feel deserves at least a brief retelling, if not publication in a national newspaper.
     My name is Mundrake Parker. I'm employed by a liquor store in the industrial part of town. As I have no car or bicycle I'm forced to rely upon public transportation, which in my modestly sized town is unreliable at best. I estimate I've culminated at least a day of my life waiting for the bus that takes me closest to work, and that is what I was doing when this remarkable incident occurred.
    At the bus stop with me were three other men, all dressed in identical black suits and carrying identical briefcases. One was taller than the rest and was bearded, while the other two were clean shaven and of similar build and height. I paid no attention to them until one of the shorter ones began to speak:

   'What'd McCormick say? Five o'clock?'
   'Five o'clock. That's when they open the safe.' said another short one.
   'This job's really got me nervous. Feels like we bein' followed.' said the tall one, glancing at me.

   I began to feel dreadfully nervous, for these gentlemen were up to something devious! Certainly it was in my best interest to stay away, but curiousity is a hungry chap and I opened my ears further.

   'Whaddya think? Hostages?
   'Nah, leave no survivors.' replied the tall one, glancing again at me menacingly.

   At this point I pretended to look at the bus schedule from my pocket but I could tell these criminals were onto me. I heard one of their briefcases open with a click and thought for sure it was a gun. The bus was coming and without thinking I threw my knapsack at the tallest man and ran behind the approaching bus for cover. Before any shots could be fired, however, seven armed federal agents poured out of the bus and demanded the surrender of the suited men. I peeked out confused from my cover to see explosives, firearms, fake passports and airplane tickets all upon the ground where their briefcase had opened. The leader of the feds marched up to me and shook my hand, a tremendous grin on his moustached face.

   'Great work, lad! Great work! We've been trying to apprehend this gang for months now and your subtle bus schedule look was the tell that these were the men we were looking for!'
   'Uh... thanks...' replied I.
   'Which division are you assigned to lad? Special Ops? Fraud Detection?'
   'Sal's Liquor and Smokes...'
   'Excellent, excellent! Tell your supervisor a special commendation is coming your way!'

   I was, of course, late for work. When I tried to explain to my boss that it wasn't my fault, and that a special commendation was coming my way, he seemed about as convinced as you'd expect, and promptly ordered me to clean up his bathroom downstairs. I'm pretty sure he spent all of last night eating bean and pork burritos. It wasn't until the feds showed up with a plaque of my commendation that he believed me, or when they arrested him for creating a dangerous biohazard in that same bathroom. Hey, these federal guys do good work.

550 Words A Day Challenge Part IX: The Missing Wallet

Part IX --- The Missing Wallet


     George discovered his pockets much emptier than they had been one hour earlier, when he had bumped into a shady gentleman on Cartwright Street. This stranger had been in such a hurry that he walked straight into George with any warning or apology. Also, in haste to continue on his way he didn't notice an envelope fall out of his jacket pocket. On it was scribbled: "Ruby's Diner, 5pm" and that was where George was waiting, the envelope on the table in front of him.
     Ruby's Diner was strongly retro themed: every inch and corner of the place was like a time machine spinning out of control. George found it nauseating, really. The waitress though was attractive, wearing a power blue dress that clearly was not the uniform of the place. Her bold red lipstick made her face explode with the life of another time, her smile only tripling that effect.

     'Can I get you anything?' she asked. Her gold name tag read: Angeline.
     'I'm fine, thanks. Just waiting for a friend.' replied George politely.

     He watched her walk back behind the counter, her tangerine hair rolling about her shoulders as she went. This woman was positively hypnotizing to middle aged George, who had put on some pounds in recent years but still considered himself modestly attractive. He was unbearably tempted to go up and talk to her but did not know what to say. Then, the shady character from Cartwright Street stepped inside the diner. He spotted George immediately and was not happy.

    'What the hell're you doin' here? Who are you? Where's my envelope?' he demanded.
    'Where's my wallet? It's been been missing since I bumped into you!' countered George.
    'What, dis thing?' said the stranger, tossing a black wallet onto the table. 'Useless, ain't it? Not even any good family photos or coupons!'

    George checked his wallet and found everything valuable accounted for.

    'Well I think that concludes our business. I'll be on my way then.' said George, standing up.
    'Wait! What about my envelope?'

    George snatched the envelope off the table before the stranger could grab it. He held it close to his eyes pretending to examine it, enjoying how uncomfortable it made the ruffian across from him.

    'What, this? I wonder what's in here. Maybe I should take a look...' George pondered aloud.
    'You don't want to do that, mate.' warned the stranger.
    'What's in here? Drugs? Laundered money? Some kind of conspiracy scheme?'
    'Trust me. You're better off not knowing.'
    'Nonsense.'

   George ripped open the envelope and let whatever was inside fall onto the table below. All that came out was a photograph, which again George grabbed before the stranger could. The colours were bright and crisp, as though fresh from a printing shop. It made him feel dizzy.

   'It's.... it's me and...' mumbled George, the diner melting around him, '...it's me and Angeline! At a wedding! Our wedding...'

   For several seconds George blacked out and was not aware of where he was. When the diner came back into view he discovered the stranger and he had traded places. The stranger was also wearing his clothes, had his wallet in hand, and an enormous grin on his face.

   'I tried to warn you, didn't I? Well, I'm going to go talk to that lovely girl over there. I think we're going to get along fine, don't you? Goodbye!'

   The stranger jumped up from his seat and confidently approached Angeline, who within a moment of conversation was smiling and laughing. George, if that still was his name, took another peek at the photograph, seeing the stranger was now in his place.

   'Can I order the tuna salad, please?' 


    

550 Words A Day Part VIII: An Uninformed Look At The Dickey Trade

                                                                           (photo belongs to aolsports)


Part VIII --- An Uninformed look at the Dickey Trade


Instead of being picky, the Blue Jays went and got Dickey!

Okay, we got that out of the way.

With the trade between the Blue Jays and Mets 99% official now that R.A. Dickey has signed a contract extension with Toronto, here are some brief initial thoughts on the deal.

One: that all the injuries to Blue Jays pitchers last season really got to General Manager Alex Anthopolous. With Drabek, Hutchison and Luis Perez all needing Tommy John surgery, Anthopolous has traded for a pitcher who doesn't even have the UCL ligament they replace in that procedure! Now sure, what happened last summer to the team was a calamity and unlikely to happen again (unless fate is truly a cruel mistress), but beyond J.A. Happ the depth of the starting rotation was not inspiring. While strong on paper, they would've been one Josh Johnson elbow explosion or a hard comebacker off Brandon Morrow away from serious problems. This trade helps with that.

Two: I'm not a huge fan of Travis d'Arnaud. Scouts say shiny things about his tools and his numbers the past few seasons look pretty, but I think he's closer to J.P. Arencibia than Buster Posey. Also, this isn't the first time the Blue Jays have had an impressive young catcher who struggles with injuries (remember Quillermo Quiroz?) and the reality is that the catcher position grinds your body down. I like d'Arnaud's chances of becoming an above average major league catcher, I really do, but the risks that come with him make it seem like Toronto is trading one gamble for another in this deal.

Three: I like Noah Syndergaard. A lot. I think pitchers with his size, fastball velocity, good control and age (especially!) are exceptionally rare. It stinks to lose him.

Four: Josh Johnson's pending free agency. The way contracts for free agent starting pitchers are going, Johnson could easily get something well over the 100 million dollar range. With Dickey locked up for the next three seasons, retaining Johnson after 2013 (while nice) is not crucial to the team's success.

Five: Knuckleballs are fun to watch. Seriously. I remember having the opportunity to sit behind home plate and watch Tim Wakefield pitch a game in his final season. I can't recall ever seeing major league hitters look so uncomfortable, and Wakefield didn't even pitch well.

Six: People are worried about Dickey's transition from the NL East where pitchers bat to the AL East where pitchers consider new lines of work. It's a legitimate concern, but I believe Dickey has an advantage because he has such a unique pitch that the American League is unfamiliar with. I mean, he'd been doing rounds in the National League for three seasons, facing teams that had seen him several times and they still couldn't hit him. That knuckleball makes me nervous in Yankee Stadium or Fenway Park though.

Seven: That contract is a bargain. Even if Dickey's more 2011 than 2012, that's still pretty damn good.

Eight: Definitely a vote of confidence for Arencibia, who from his twitter reactions genuinely seems like he wants to be here. Say what you will about his short comings, it can't hurt to have a guy like that around.

Nine: A lot of fans are crying about the farm system being depleted. Nonsense. We were short on position players anyway (and I'm so glad we kept Anthony Gose through all of this) and there are still enough pitchers down there to ogle if that's your thing. I know I'm excited to see what Sanchez, Nolin, Osuna, Stroman, Smoral and Norris can do in the next few seasons.

Overall, acquiring R.A. Dickey makes the 2013 Blue Jays a better team more realistically than d'Arnaud and Syndergaard would've. Could this trade hurt in a few years? Definitely. Probably. But clearly this team wants to win now and hey, I'm on board with that.
  

550 Words A Day Challenge (VII) The Way Home Part Two

(I've decided as a writing exercise to write 550 words everyday for two weeks and see what I come up with. The subject matter and narrative will not be limited to anything, and I will only be allowed to edit what I write once)

Part VII --- The Way Home (Part Two)


     continued from Wednesday


     Beyond that we come across Millwood Road, a street that a block to the west meets itself and thus is the nexus of the universe. We continue straight and the road begins to bend, distorting your sense of direction. Eventually Overlea Blvd greets us on the left, a path leading towards Science Centres and Don Mills but not home. Now we are escaping Leaside and the long bridge over the Don Valley Parkway bids us goodbye with an incredible view of the city seeming so far away, surprisingly.
      The path splits in two directions once the bridge concludes so we make a left. This is the beginning of Donlands Avenue and while this section of road is as wide as a highway it is lined with houses on either side. The question approaches your mind how the residents of these homes ever get to sleep while living beside such traffic, but as O'Connor appears around the bend the thought fades away unanswered. At the corners of O'Connor and Donlands a closed breakfast chain makes you hungry, a pub makes you lonely, a Beer Store makes you thirsty and a pizza joint makes you wonder what's in your fridge.
    Going east along O'Connor is severely unremarkable but fortunately Greenwood is not far. We turn on Greenwood and immediately wonder how such a narrow street could one: have two way traffic and parked cars and two: have a subway station named after it. Greenwood as a "major" street though possesses a rare thing that Yonge, Mount Pleasant, Laird, Donlands and O'Connor lacks: quietness. The roar of O'Connor drive fades rapidly as you speed down Greenwood and you feel at peace, happy to be away from the bustle and traffic. A ride through East York may seem dull and repetitive but at least that feeling of danger has been left behind from where you came. By the time Cosburn and Greenwood comes to your eyes and Dieppe Park on the left pokes at your curiousity, you realize you're almost home and that you just might make it there.
    Greenwood narrows the more south you go (at least until Danforth) but we turn at Glebeholme before the road squeezes our wheels. This street is filled with trees and colourful lawns and holiday decorations and you wish you'd remembered your camera. Well, there's always next time.


   As a personal sidenote to this journey, an old childhood friend of mine used to live around Mortimer and Greenwood, and so everytime I go by it's a bizarre experience for me. It's a sort of sensation where two sets of memories in my mind are clashing with each other. The Younger Me remembers taking the Mortimer bus (63 I think) to Greenwood and seeing a variety store on the south-east corner across the street from my friend's house. What's bizarre is that in my recollection the intersection is only vivid from a certain angle, so now that Older Me passes through there fairly frequently I'm seeing it from a different perspective. The variety store is still there, but seeing it so often now from a different side of the street makes it seem familiar as though from a dream. I suppose it's interesting how we recall places by the position we see them from, and how these places can appear strange to us when that position is changed.

550 Words A Day Challenge (VI) The Way Home

(I've decided as a writing exercise to write 550 words everyday for two weeks and see what I come up with. The subject matter and narrative will not be limited to anything, and I will only be allowed to edit what I write once)

*I realize that yes, I missed a day. Will make it up eventually

--------------

Part V --- The Way Home


        First I must mention that I quit my job last week. And to be honest, it's probably one of the best decisions I've ever made. When I gave my notice at my last job, "Super Libretto Pizza Land", it was a sad moment for me. I'd worked there for a long period of time and realized one day there was nothing left for me there. It's hard to say goodbye to a place you respect and people you like, knowing that you can't be a part of what that wonderful thing is anymore.
       Quitting this job was nothing like that. I imagined the moment of quitting constantly to keep myself going throughout the day. I won't get into the many specifics of what was so rotten about this gig (and why would you want to hear it anyway) but lets just say life is too short and fleeting to be trapped somewhere you don't want to be.

      Anyhow! The only aspect of this job I am going to miss is the journey to get there/get the hell away from there. I'm a bicycling enthusiast, and while my job is in the Eglinton/Yonge area I live in the midst of East York (Greenwood/Coxwell-ish). It doesn't stop me from riding there when I'm willing and able (a.k.a. all the time) and so I shall take you along with me on such a journey, which according to Google Maps is about 9 km. We shall be starting from Yonge/Eglinton instead of my house, as that is a much more pleasant trip for me.

      Here we are: Yonge and Sherwood, riding with the treacherous traffic south along Yonge. Let's make a left turn here at Erskine and avoid the certain doom of the many fast moving cars. The mix of apartment towers and impressive houses on Erskine gives way to another busy street: Mount Pleasant. Mt. Pleasant is more residential than the business oriented Yonge but the traffic level is still hazardous. We slide along Mt. Pleasant, past Northern and Eglinton and an army of convenience stores, until we reach Soudan Avenue, an east/west side street.
     Wait for a gap in traffic and away we go. Soudan is lined with houses of all shapes and sizes, colours and classes, yet all of them have interesting front lawns for some reason. Soudan twists into Parkhurst Blvd, probably the straightest running street in this new neighbourhood. After a downward hill and many stop signs we come upon Laird, industrial in name and features. Yet this is a developing area: brand new strip malls adorn the left side of the road as we go, some of the stores not even open for business. This stretch has been designed to have everything from liquor stores to bulk-buy outlets to a cell-phone outlet across the way. The streets there are parking lots and the buildings indistinguishable from each other, but the newness of the place warrants further exploration.

 (unfortunately I have exceeded my word-count limit. Come back tomorrow for the conclusion, and more!)  



 

550 Words A Day Challenge Reboot: The Twenty Nine

(I've decided as a writing exercise to write 550 words everyday and see what I come up with. The subject matter and narrative will not be limited to anything, and I'm only allowed to edit what I write once)


Part V --- The Twenty-Nine


The setting is a bus stop with a green bench beside it. Three people wait in a row by the sign: PARKER, a well dressed salesman holding a suitcase, GUNBY, a casually dressed young man with a guitar bag over his shoulder, and SIBELLA, a teenage female hockey player on her way to a game (hockey stick in hand, enormous sports bag by her feet. All three give off body language that they've been waiting for a while

 
GUNBY: Damn 29. The 29 is always late.

PARKER: Is it now?

GUNBY: Everytime. I always have to wait at least fifteen minutes for it.

PARKER: Wouldn't know. I'm not from this area.

GUNBY: Me neither. I'm across town. Bank district I like to call it.

PARKER: Sounds interest-ing.

GUNBY: I like to think so, man.

PARKER: Normally I don't take public transportation. Too slow, really. But today I'm heading into a neighbourhood with such terrible parking I have no other choice.

GUNBY: What's your business there?

PARKER: Have you heard of the Grand Electron Corporate Dynamo Group?

GUNBY: No.

PARKER: Well I sell payment plans for them.

GUNBY: Payment plans?

PARKER: Yes. Door to door.

GUNBY: What kind of payment plans?

PARKER: Oh, a bit of everything.

GUNBY: And where does it go?

PARKER: Here, there. Sometimes everywhere. And really, the destination isn't a big part of it.

GUNBY: More so the 'paying' part.

PARKER: Exactly. As far as you know, it's going towards whatever you want.

GUNBY: Can it go towards not having to wait fifteen minutes for the bus?

SIBELLA: Why not just arrive here ten minutes later?

GUNBY: But then I'll miss the bus!

PARKER: He's got a point there.

GUNBY(to Sibella): You a basketball player?

SIBELLA: Hockey.

GUNBY: Is that the one with the touchdowns?

SIBELLA: Not a sports fan I take it.

GUNBY: Hey now, I enjoy sports. I like the game where the two rich guys in suits argue back and forth with big words for like three hours.

SIBELLA: You mean a political debate?

GUNBY: Maybe. It's the one where the commentators are always talking about 'points' but there's no score.

PARKER: I prefer when the two guys, or sometimes one guy one girl, are sitting behind a big desk with screens behind them and talk about things that are happening in the world, whatever sport that is.

SIBELLA(to herself): Geez, this bus does take a while...

PARKER: Say young lady, have you ever heard of Grand Electron Corporate Dynamo Group?

SIBELLA: I think I saw them featured in one of those 'sports' you just mentioned, and it wasn't a very good game.

GUNBY(to Parker): How do I get on board with one of these payment plans you mentioned?

PARKER: Do you have a credit card?

GUNBY: Do I ever!

PARKER: Great! Now I have some forms for you to fill out... (opens his suitcase and begins rummaging through) Banking information, place of birth, mother's maiden name, power of attorney, nothing too big...

SIBELLA: The bus is coming.

GUNBY: Bus?

PARKER: Now, I am going to need a sizeable cash payment up front.

GUNBY: Is it okay if I give you my chequebook instead?

SIBELLA: Not in service? Come on! (turning to the audience) Oh well, beats waiting for the Queen streetcar.

(on cue, PARKER's suitcase pops open and nothing but shredded newpapers spill onto the stage)


CURTAIN

550 Words A Day Challenge (IV) Lionel and Gerry

(I've decided as a writing exercise to write 550 words everyday for two weeks and see what I come up with. The subject matter and narrative will not be limited to anything, and I will only be allowed to edit what I write once)


Part IV --- Lionel and Gerry


       It was a face Gerry knew better than perhaps anybody: the black hair was longer and wilder, the cheeks thinner and creased with age, the once determined lips now cracked from exposure to cold weather, but the crooked nose and the wide green eyes and cauliflower ears were still as they had always been. This was Lionel McCarthy, an old acquaintance to Gerry and a man driven by image and success.
      They made eye contact and for a brief moment Lionel did not recognize him. Five uncomfortable seconds of staring passed until at last the unfamiliarity evaporated.

      'Gerry Sanchez! You scoundrel you! How long has it been!'
      'Six years come November.'
      'At Bob Parin's cottage, right?'
      'Something like that.' replied Gerry.

      Lionel did not dress as immaculately as he had in the past. Neither was his grooming as careful, for his skin seemed rough from spotty shaving and a lack of soap. His shoes were caked with dirt and the seams along the sides were bursting towards the ground. Gone were the suit and ties he was notorious for wearing at any occasion, replaced by a brown overcoat and stained blue jeans that had not seen his better days.

      'What are you up to these days, old boy? Still pushing pencils and typing buttons for ILC?' asked Lionel.
      'Yeah, same old ILC. Became an assistant director of office resources a few years back. Boring work but I've ever minded it.'
     'Sounds like the Steady Gerry we've always known!' said Lionel, without the faintest admiration.

     A smell of damp unwashed socks slowly drifted into Gerry's nostrils and he attempted not to retch. It was the most foul scent he had ever encountered, and that included his three month stint volunteering at the homeless shelter near the sewage plant. Lionel continued to grin, unaware or indifferent of the disturbing odour.

     'How... are you doing, Lionel? Everything all right with you these days?'
     'What a foolish question, old boy! Everything is better than ever! I quit those bastards at Richards and Parker to become a private consultant! Oh, things are better than ever, better than ever.'

      Gerry and Lionel shook hands and said their goodbyes as if they had seen each other yesterday. As he began to walk away, Gerry turned back and called his old acquaintance back.

     'Are you sure you don't need anything? Maybe I can talk to some folks at ILC and...'
     'You're being silly and ridiculous, old boy. I don't need anybody's help, never ever will. Worry about yourself and that one-lane-street job of your's.'
     'All right, Lionel.' said Gerry quietly.
     'Exactly, old boy! Now don't keep me any longer, I have so many more appointments this evening! We surely must catch up some more soon. Perhaps at Bob Parin's cottage in a few weeks? See you then!'

     Gerry waved good bye to his friend and continued on his way. As he went, he could not shake an uncomfortable thought from his mind: Bob Parin had moved to Spain four years before.