Author: R.

• Richard
• Lizzie
• Serendipidy
• Tom
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

The next topic is Fine.

RICHARD

Dirty

“It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it.”

I looked at Toby cynically.

“What are you talking about, mate? How is being a talent scout for glamour magazines a dirty job? It’s not like you’re a sewage engineer!”

Toby gave me an exasperated look. “Why do you always have to take things so literally? It’s irony! It’s supposed to be amusing.”

“It’s not funny” I countered.

“Suit yourself” he replied, “you’re just jealous.”

“Not at all. I love being a sewage engineer… The smells, the filth, the rubber, hot babes.”

He smiled, “Is that irony?”

“Yeah. I’m learning!”

LIZZIE

He sat surrounded by orange and red and yellow pillows. All he could think of was to get rid of her. That’s where he was in life. “Let’s have a cocktail at the Sundown Lounge,” she said. “It’s so fancy!” Her voice shrilled throughout the fancy rooftop. And now, here he was, pondering whether he could break the glass he was holding, and stab her with it quickly enough. Well, he did try. But the damn lounge had some pretty sturdy glasses. “It’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it,” he later told his cellmate. “I trust you.”

SERENDIPIDY

Someone has to do the dirty jobs.

The muck-rakers, the toilet scrubbers and the collectors of night soil. The gatherers of carrion and the bringers of death and decay.

They have their place, and although despised and looked down upon by society, they fulfil a need.

Theirs is the domain of darkness and stench, the place of pain and putrescence, and without them, life would fester and rot, with no-one to prevent its fall into chaos.

So celebrate those of that foul domain, and remember their worth.

Personally, I wouldn’t deign to touch them

That’s your job, not mine!

TOM

Thick as Thieves

I couldn’t have been greener. But my mentor in the party was an old hand at the more dubious craftsmanship of Rat Fuckn. “It’s a dirty job, but someone hast to do it.” He would quip slowly, as he surveying the room, finally letting his gaze fall on me. The funny thing about the dirty job is the goal was not to let a stray finger press make its present known. He reminded me we were not spooks; we were shadows. We did not change outcomes we merely shaded perceptions. And the price He smiled was never done dirt cheap.

NORVAL JOE

As the three walked along the foggy road, a van from the “Someone’s gotta do it” septic service stopped next to them.
The driver asked. “Do you kids need a ride?” He smiled, exposing large yellow teeth.
Linoliamanda stepped toward the van. “Sure.”
“No. Wait,” Billbert shouted.
The van’s door slid open and six burley teenagers jumped out, grabbing Billbert and his friends.
Too late to join hands and fly off, Billbert said, “Come on, Sabrina. You’re the weather witch. Do something.”
“Right,” she said, turning to face the ocean. The fog separated and a giant thunderhead barrelled toward them.

PLANET Z

A long time ago, I had a son.
He grew up big and strong.
And one day, he went out but never came back.
He never came back again.
Sometimes, I think I see him hiding in the bushes.
Or up in a tree, in the shadows.
It’s been years since he left, but I know he’s out there.
And one day, when my days are done, it will be my time to go out and never come back.
And I will find him.
Maybe you’ll see us, in the bushes, up in a tree.
In the shadows together, forever.

• Richard
• Lizzie
• Serendipidy
• Tom
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

The next topic is It’s a dirty job.

RICHARD

Railroad reflection

The mournful sounds of train horns filled the frigid air.

Blowing into my cupped hands had little effect on my numb fingers, and I longed for the warmth of a friendly flame and woollen mittens.

This was the reality of the hobo’s life.

Cold, unforgiving, and distinctly lacking the romance of the open road.

The winter sun, slowly dipped in the Western sky, glinting from the steel rails, bestowing a lustrous sheen of glowing golden light;

Buttery tramlines, leading my gaze towards the distant, unknown horizon:

My destination on the next passing outbound train.

The traveller’s dream; the vagrant’s curse

SERENDIPIDY

I found the photograph in his wallet: A happy, smiling child. His daughter.

It was old now, cracked and faded with time, but still he’d kept it, all these years.

And now, he lay dead at my feet; the knife in my hand, slick with his blood.

He deserved it.

And that’s all I have to say on the matter. You don’t need to know the details, you only need to know that he had it coming.

I trace the little girl’s smile with my bloody finger.

I was happy once.

I looked down at his lifeless form, “Goodbye, dad”.

TOM

VAST

During my undergrad degree in Photography our inter-circle of A-students got the university to give us a van for a road- trip to the Grand Canyon. This prompted a new university policy of no vans for field-trips. Proud of that legacy, I am. The Canyon is number two on the national go-to destination for an American youth, just behind the Happiest Place On Earth. Not your fine art major venue. But the Canyon fine arts written large. As hard as I tried my photos never captured the feel of the Canyon. In a word it is the soul of Vast.

LIZZIE

It was a trying endeavor. A man sitting on a beam, working up high. No ropes, an emptiness below him. Just sitting there and hammering away. But she took that photograph, plus the one with the buildings. Her father had told her that those two represented the company’s prestige. A man dangling, hammering away for a pittance, building the company’s prestige. The pride of the family. When her father died, she took those photographs and burned them. Yes, she got rid of the company’s prestige, and she got rid of her family. It was a trying endeavor. Freedom’s never easy.

NORVAL JOE

The woman struggled, trying to escape from the thorn bush. Sabrina took out her phone and took a photograph of the woman’s face.
“What are you doing?” Billbert asked.
“Evidence,” Sabrina said, putting her phone away. “Let’s get out of here before she gets out of the bush.”
They joined hands and lifted off in the buttery yellow light of morning, flying north across the Eel River delta and the South Humboldt Bay before landing just outside the Eureka city limits.
Sabrina scowled. “Why are we stopping here?”
Linoliamanda started walking. “That’s okay. My house is just up the road.”

PLANET Z

Back in the day, there was a streetcar on Main Street.
From City Hall to the College.
Along the way, there was the factory, the hospital, and the grocer’s.
The town got bigger, the streets got wider, and the streetcar tracks were torn up.
I collect postcards of the old days, women in big dresses and men in their top hats.
Mounted and framed at the old-timey bar by City Hall.
They were going to build it out of a pair of streetcars, but they weren’t big enough.
A toy streetcar goes around on a track near the ceiling, though.