Cook County Illinois.
That’s Chicago.
In the Thirties, they called it Crook County.
North Side, South Side, Lake Side.
They were all on the other side of the law.
Al and his furniture store.
Bugsy and his hotel.
Frank and his flower shop.
Frank, now that was a guy who got his hands dirty.
A notch on his gun for every man he killed.
Twenty-seven notches did him no good when they got the drop on him, filling the shop full of lead.
His flower shop provided the flowers for his funeral.
And Al had a special coffin made up.
Author: R.
Delivery issues
The virus came, and the virus went.
Some people used the opportunity to eat healthy and work out in their homes.
But so many others just sat in front of their laptops and TVs and ate to fill the time.
Delivered meals, delivered groceries.
One Mexican restaurant delivered margaritas by the gallon.
My pal Fred did just that.
He got everything delivered.
And when they lifted the lockdown, Fred was ready to go out and meet his friends.
Except that he had eaten so much delivery, he couldn’t fit through his front door anymore.
So they ended up visiting him.
Jackie Dear
They say to have a good home, you must fill it with good books.
And when you’d go into a home and see a lot of books, and you’d think it’s a good home… right?
What if they never read those books?
What if they bought all those books by the yard to fill their shelves?
Or, what if they don’t own physical copies of books, and they read everything on a kindle?
What if they’re blind and can’t read those books?
Or they can see, and they’re Braille editions?
If they’re all Jackie Collins, okay. It’s a bad home.
Weekly Challenge #820 – OVEREXPOSED
LIZZIE
The lighthouse stood by the bay, small waves hitting it softly.
The carcass of a boat rocked back and forth, a warning flag still swaying in the wind.
They had been overexposed to that gas, the one coming from the barrels tossed in the water at high sea. They tried to sail away as fast as they could. But it was only a matter of seconds.
People came onboard. They said no, don’t come here. But they did anyway.
And now, the lighthouse stood by the bay, small waves hitting it softly, with no one to take care of it.
RICHARD
Overdressed – Overexposed
Have you ever seen those goth girls and boys? All black clothing and mascara, veils and teenage angst.
Even on the hottest, sunniest day, they shrink within their cloak of darkness, like modern day vampires, avoiding the light as if it threatened mortal danger.
I once went out with a girl like that.
For months, I tried everything I could to encourage her to shed just a few layers of protective attire.
Then one fateful day, she relented, and stripped to her bare skin.
Skin so pale, she appeared like a badly overexposed photograph.
So bright, she blinded me forever.
TURA
Overexposed
———
After a day’s work on a photoshoot in an ancient forest, I found one image I’d accidentally overexposed. I would have thrown it out, but I noticed it had brought out some strange details in a deep hole amongst some tree roots.
I went back the next day to image the thing better. Going close up would just scare off whatever it was, so instead I brought my ultra-HDR, ultra-resolution digital to get it by stealth from a distance.
On the camera back I zoomed in on the hole and turned up the brightness…
THEY DON’T LIKE TO BE SEEN!
SERENDIPIDY
Maybe, as a child, I was overexposed to violence and bloodshed; although, it’s fair to say that none of the other kids in the neighbourhood followed the path I’ve taken.
Perhaps, poor mental health has warped my values and sense of decency, eroded my capacity to empathise and my grasp on reality. Yet every test I’ve taken indicates I’m no more damaged than the next person.
I suppose I may have lacked spiritual and moral guidance to keep me on the straight and narrow. But, that’s not true either.
I simply enjoy mindless torture and violence.
See… Perfectly well adjusted!
TOM
What Could GO Possible Wrong 020
If anyone had spent the time in any timeframe perusing the walls of the Arm’s they would have come a across a most piacular overexposed photo. Even in the rumble of the curtain state of the pub they would have seen their collected face. Warn and weary, but a glare of defend resolve. Cervantes had seen it, the machinations of the last few days were to ensure it would accrue. They would never forgive him, but he had long ago given that emotion to the devil in exchange for a clear sight of right action. Duty heavy as a Mountain.
Attachments area
NORVAL JOE
They saw the flickering light of the bon fire long before they got to it. Excitement flickered in Sabrina’s eyes, reflected from the dancing flames. “Stay behind me as we approach the ceremony. I don’t want you to be overexposed to the magic.”
Billbert stopped dead. “Overexposed. That doesn’t sound good. What are you getting me into?”
“Nothing. Really. It’s a simple ceremony. But, if you’re not used to magic, you may get dizzy, disoriented, or a bit euphoric. Just keep in mind, I’m your friend.”
“You’ve said that before,” Billbert said and headed back the way they had come.
PLANET Z
Melanie spent a lot of time volunteering at the hospital.
“I like reading to old people,” she said. “Especially the ones who have no family or friends visiting them.”
She did it for two years before she stopped showing up.
All of the patients who’d died left everything in their wills to an asset management company she’d set up to drain them dry.
She cashed out, got a new identity, and left the country.
The hospital probably should have known when they asked her to help with the children’s ward.
And she replied “Kids? They don’t have any fucking money.”
Stanley builds a working time machine
Stanley built a time machine in his basement.
A fully-functional, God’s-honest time machine.
All you had to do is plug it in, and it would work.
The problem is, there were no electrical outlets in Stanley’s basement.
And he didn’t have an extension cord long enough to reach from the kitchen to the basement.
He tried to daisy-chain all of his surge protectors, but they still didn’t reach.
So he went to the hardware store to get an extension cord.
And was killed by a drunk driver.
Stanley’s sister had the time machine dismantled and sent to the scrap yard.
Frankie H.
Frankie had a good thing going in his act.
He had the best writers, the audience in the palm of his hand as he threw gag after gag.
He played that audience like a conductor of an orchestra.
Everyone laughed.
But when they put him in movies, he fell flat.
No audience to play off of, no audience to show up.
If the crew laughed, he had to do another take.
Box office poison.
Defeated. Desperate.
Back to television? Back to the stage?
He watched as the crew tore down his posters, putting new ones up giving others top billing.
Freddy Sneezes
Freddy sneezed himself back in time.
It wasn’t by much. Just three minutes.
But still whenever he sneezed, he went back in time.
Little sniffles sent him back a few seconds.
A big blast, maybe an hour.
Whenever he caught cold, he went to Vegas.
Turning a few bucks of chips into a nice stack to cash out.
The casinos tried to prove he cheated, but their tapes showed all kinds of strange glitches and errors.
They couldn’t prove a damn thing.
So, they took him out back and shot him.
Dead men tell no tales.
And they don’t sneeze.
Are you a whore?
Customers don’t buy prostitutes.
They only rent them.
Pimps, on the other hand, buy prostitutes.
How they do it, well, this is no Julia Roberts fairy tale, folks.
And prostitutes who are owned will save up money to buy themselves out from under their pimps.
Not that many ever really get free, because of the drugs. Or the pimp taking their cash and killing them anyway.
Then there’s the independent contractors who work for organized brothels.
Those arrangements vary depending on the contract.
Healthcare, security, retirement plans.
Look at your job.
Look at your contract.
Are you a whore, too?
The King and the Black Eye
Before Broadway, Yul Brynner was a television director.
He did dramas for CBS. And he did them well, he did them his way.
CBS executives, being executives, wanted more.
And being executives, they ordered him to direct the Whats My Line? game show on Sunday night.
Yul hated it.
So, one night, he rolled the credits 4 minutes early.
And for the last three minutes, the camera showed Yul’s director credit while the audience clapped.
The executives relented, but they didn’t fire Yul.
He continued to direct his beloved television dramas, while doing 8 shows a week as The King.
Smoke and writers
Smoking came naturally to Bill.
He’d be writing a story, and then pause… and he’d need something in his hand and his mouth.
Gum? Carrot sticks? Celery?
No, only a cigarette would do.
He was a writer, after all, and that’s what writers do.
Take out the pack, open it, knock out a cigarette, put it in his mouth, ready for the lighter, and light it.
Maybe he sits there with it in his fingers, thinking.
Maybe he’s typing so much, he smokes it down to the filter.
Stubs it out, lights another one.
And keeps writing whatever he’s writing.