Flash in a Pan – Fork

“Frankieee—how’s biz?”

Black hair slicked straight back nodded once. The owner swaggered past without a glance, his white shirt glowed beneath the glossy sharkskin jacket.

“Somebody thinks he’s good for us, eh, Big Joey:” A shoulder nudged a smidge too hard.

“Shush, Little Nick. What you on, man? I don’t want no trouble.”

“Forget it. Coming in? I’m hungry.”

“Maybe some calamari…”

“Hey Tony. Pasta, calamari, oysters.”  Joey looked around.

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“Sherry! That was fast. Smells good. Thanks.”

“Enjoy boys—Big Joey.”

“Frankie, to what do I owe…?”

“Nice night, eh? What did you say back there?”

“Nothing, I swear.” Big Joey observed the watching patrons.

“Yeah? You swear eh? You swear…”

“Frankie, what are you doing with that fork?”

“I’m going to have me some steak, rare. Now you can swear all you want.”

“@*&$*%.@$? Aiyeeeee—my leg—my leg.” Big Joey’s glazed eyes froze Little Nick.

“Call an ambulance!”

The word limit for Fork is 150 words. I used all 150. Check out http://mommasmoneymatters.com/flash-fiction/ for the rules and join us.

Sunday Snippets Blog Hop

Jennifer Eaton of http://jennifermeaton.com/sunday-snippets/ initiated this Critique Blog Hop. Post the first 250 words of a work in progress, check out the rules and join us. Other submissions are at the bottom of this post.

Today’s snippet is a continuation of The Devil’s Game, the initial offering is here:  http://letscutthecrap.wordpress.com/2013/05/05/sunday-snippets-blog-hop-9/

As always, I welcome your input.

~ * ~

They regarded me with inquisitive eyes as I danced around them.

“You need to use the bathroom, dear?  Mrs. Swain bent toward me as far as her arthritic back could stretch.

Short Mrs. Pinto touched my shoulder, “Is everything all right, little Melania?”

“No, Mrs. Swain. I’m okay, Mrs. Pinto.  Have you seen Ma in the P&G?”

“Yes, Melania, I think she is in line to pay…”

“Thank you, Mrs. Swain. Bye.”  I stopped hopping and rushed up the sidewalk, through P&G’s door and smack into Ma. She swerved into the wide pillar behind her. At her side she clutched the partially filled carpetbag.

“Ma, Mrs. Fournier is looking after Caterina. She says come home quick.”

“What is it, Melania?” A strange light flashed in my mother’s eyes.

“I don’t know.”

Ma grabbed the checkout girl’s forearm. “You take.” She heaved the cloth bag with wooden handles at her. “I come and pay. Must go home now. Importante.”

Her hand icy and arm taunt, I dragged Ma for three endless blocks. I stole a peek at her bloodless face. Her eyes were closed and her lips moved without sound.

“Come on Ma, we’re almost there.”

I dashed ahead to open the door. Ma wheezed in behind me. Mrs. Fournier grabbed her arm as we stumbled inside, pulled her into the bedroom, and slammed the door. I hunched forward with my ear against the wood.

“You husband, Mrs. Evrett…accident in mine…”

“Mine? The gold mine? My Everett? Where my husband per favore?”

~ * ~

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Flash in the Pan – Parboiled

“Don’t drip into the sauce, Alejandro.” Marina dabbed a towel over her face and sighed.

In Pastry, Rick’s face shone like a deformed beet on steroids, ready to split and explode. He cleared his throat and hopped from side to side. “Stop dancing, Rick,” she snapped. “Or have you something to tell us?”

The pastry chef glared at her and set down the water bottle. “I need to take a walk.” Guffaws and laughter sent him sprinting.

“Don’t forget to wash your ha-ands,” a girly voice offered.

“Back to work, gang.”

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“When is the air-conditioning repair coming?” The busboy slinked into the kitchen. “You think this is hot, try the restaurant. Customers’ brains must be parboiled— they’re skipping dessert.” He smirked at Rick’s return.

“And ours are barbecued. Two more hours troops. Chop, chop,” Marina scolded benignly.Rick tossed his hat.

“Don’t you dare…”

“Kiss my a**.”

“Sure thing, sugar.”

~ * ~

The word limit for Parboiled is 150 words. I used all 150. Check out http://mommasmoneymatters.com/flash-fiction/ for the rules and join us.

Butt Out

It’s nice we live in a free country, isn’t it? You can shop where you want, buy and wear what you want, and do almost anything so long as it’s legal.

I’ve heard visitors / newcomers from other countries say they are appalled at how North Americans go out in public: in jeans or shorts for all occasions; T-shirts too small or too big, ripped or dirty; scuffed and / or filthy, grimy shoes or flip-flops, beat up and grubby running shoes etc.

If you’re at home in the backyard cooking, cleaning, painting, cutting the grass—go for it. I don’t disagree with what you choose to wear or how you wear it. You’re the king of your castle.

Is it too much to ask a little care about your appearance in the grocery store, pharmacy, coffee shop and so on?

Should I be waiting for the light to change, please do not pass me on your bike with your pants half off. Male or female, this picture of you crouched over the handlebars isn’t attractive.

I don’t want to trip over you when you bend down to reach for the spaghetti sauce in the grocery store. That exclamation point down the back of your pants is not my idea of a room with a view.

As well, when I am in the pharmacy looking at vitamins, I have no interest in an introduction to your butt cheeks.

Worst of all, when I’m enjoying myself in a coffee shop, I never want to drop my face in shock when you flash your fat, hairy behind a foot-and-a-half from my face and I faint from shock. On the banquette. Ugh. Someone, half-dressed like you probably sat in the very spot my nose almost nuzzled.

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I don’t know you and most of the other patrons don’t either. Please be kind to strangers and don’t flash that thing at me in public? Can you not feel a breeze? Don’t you care how you look? Consider your hygiene as well as that of others.

On the other hand, if you are still within a block of over-the-hill, and have a nice tight…like you know—plumbers, contractors, firemen—the calendar types…

Nope. Forget it. Don’t show off what your pants are supposed to cover when you’re out and about in town.

Then again, what goes on behind closed doors, but that’s another story.

Flash in the Pan: Buffet

“Name.”

“Baker.”

“Party of six?”

“Sorry, only two—”

The hostess clamped her teeth. ?”Must phone,” she snapped.

Sally looked away. Billy’s face blossomed like a rose. He cleared his throat, lips flapped like a blow fish, but nothing came out.

“You wait.” She pointed to chairs, snapped in the air and displayed two fingers.

The noise level rose like steam over rice. Voices droned. Cutlery scraped.

Sally picked invisible fluff from her suit. She elbowed her husband. “I think she’s forgotten us, or—”

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Billy patted her lap and sprang forward. “Excuse me, Miss?”

“Not your turn.”

“The Baker table? We’ve waited ten minutes already.”

The hostess glared. Billy grinned, eyebrows raised. She snapped her fingers again. “Baker,” she barked.

The new hostess led them to the only table for two, flanking the cloakroom.

Sally smoothed her silver hair. “All this, and a Chinese Buffet. Grand. Happy New Year.”

~ * ~

The word limit for Buffet is 150 words. I used all 150. Check out http://mommasmoneymatters.com/flash-fiction/ for the rules and join us.

Sunday Snippets Blog Hop

Jennifer Eaton of http://jennifermeaton.com/sunday-snippets/ initiated this Critique Blog Hop. Post the first 250 words of a work in progress, check out the rules and join us. Other submissions are at the bottom of this post.

Thank you all for your helpful comments. Today, I offer the beginning of  a short story with the working title, The Devil’s Game.

~ * ~

Hurry up, ma. What’s taking so long?

Through the window, I watched Franco and Smitty already racing up and down the dusty road. The long arm on the cuckoo clock crept forward, a tentative lurch at a time.

My baby sister Caterina stacked and whacked her blocks on the sloping linoleum. She jabbered baby talk, drool sliding down her chin onto her chest. I turned to the clock again. Tick, tock. My chair creaked and groaned. A whiff of last night’s spaghetti sauce and Ciabatta bread still hung in the air.

Sigh.

The front door sprang to life. Urgent fists beat and pounded on it. The baby’s chin shot up as well. She clutched a red block in mid-air. With heart thumping and ears burning, I raced to see who it might be. Mrs. Fournier, from across the street, stood on the veranda clasping and unclasping her hands. Her face chalk white, she chewed on her bottom lip. “Excusez-moi…Melania, maman?”

“Getting groceries. She’ll be home soon. What, Mrs. Fournier?”

“Not worry mon enfant­— qui…?”

“The P&G, I think, Mrs. Fournier. You want me to find her?”

“Non— Oui. Yes. Vous allez. Rapide!” She clapped her hands like a school teacher.

“I run like the wind, Mrs. Fournier. “Caterina?” I pointed to the baby, grabbed my jacket, and ripped across the lawn. Where would ma go first?

My lungs burned and my side pinched. Pebbles from the dirt road attacked my calves. I lost a penny loafer, lost my balance, hopped back up and shoved my foot back inside. I rounded the corner and up onto the sidewalk. Mrs.Pinto and Mrs. Swain blocked the sidewalk.

~ * ~

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How’s Yours?

For Christmas, my daughter surprised me with a Keurig (coffee brewing system), which gives me a choice of three cup sizes. My old coffee maker works fine, I wanted to blurt.

A sample box of a dozen pre-measured, prefilled cups came with it—Italian (dark) Roast—too strong for my taste. Since Keurig carry so many brands, I would have preferred a box of assorted coffee instead. In my notebook, I made notes about two dozen varieties I had to purchase. These are a few:

1. Timothy’s Original Donut Blend  - a somewhat watered down taste of coffee, with overtones of molasses.
2. Brown Gold 100% Peruvian Medium –  full-bodied coffee, with rich overtones of peaches. Yum.
3. 100% Costa Rican Brown Gold, Mild – beautiful cup of coffee. No added notes but a ‘feel good cup of coffee’.
4. Breakfast In Bed Woolfgang Puck, Medium – a full bodied coffee. Nice aroma, but with a slight aftertaste; still, not bad. This one proved disappointing. I had high expectations because of the brand. Nothing outstanding here. No notes or overtones.

Not that I’m a wine connoisseur by any stretch, but it struck me odd that I should make comparisons to wine when I wrote these notes. When I went back to the coffee supply store, what a surprise to see all the coffees had similar descriptions as above. Woohoo.

Thank you Microsoft

Why I’m not crazy about the new-fangled coffee machines is so many customers are now buying premeasured plastic pucks and cups. Throwing this plastic in the garbage drives me nuts. I found out if you rip the cups apart and remove the paper or fibre filter, they are recyclable. A bit of a bother, I know, but let’s face it we’re already too lazy.

Keurig also make a reusable cup you can fill yourself. I believe they sell separate paper  filters for these, but am  not sure. You fill these with any kind of coffee you like, perhaps a favourite you already enjoy. My problem is the machine makes only one cup at a time. You need to dig out the compacted grounds, rinse, dry and refill for next one. Somewhat of a pain if you have a friend over for coffee. For best results you must use ultra-fine grind coffee in the refillable cups or the end result I found disappointing.

Did I need a new coffee machine? No. Was I over the moon when I opened my gift? No. Once a cup is made I must drink it up or it will get cold. I hate cold coffee. It so happens that Kuerig coffees are delicious black and cold, but I still prefer mine hot.

I’m content with my old drip coffeemaker. I can pour a third or a half-cup at a time, and I get to drink it hot. My cat jumped up on the counter last week and knocked the coffee pot off because I set it, clean and empty, next to the drip coffee unit. It smashed on the floor. Instead of buying acomplete new unit, I replaced the pot for $2.99 at a second-hand store. Now my coffee is always hot again because my cheap little coffee maker has a burner, and keeps my pot hot.

The Keurig is nice, but too expensive for every day use. I like lots of black coffee each day.

What’s your story? How is your coffee?