Thou wanted to enjoy his iced latte
Thou wanted to bring the mood down in this joint
Thou wanted these tourists to be gone
Be gone tourists!
Thou forsakes thee!
Tourists
Poseurs
Wanna bees
Beardos

Thou is the grumbly heart of your demise
Thou is real
Really real
So frightening

So fucking real

Thou is not on tourist maps
Pamphlets
Brochures

Thou will burn away all this fake tourist bullshit
Thou will bring the mood down
in
this
joint

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Nothing made sense.

Her eyes ached - the more she studied them, the less the words made sense. The words weren't working, they weren't doing their duty, they were just shapes on the wall. They blurred out of focus - was she just tired, was it her eyes?

Or were the words willfully confusing her? Was it deliberate? A merry dance they were leading her on?

She traced them with her fingertips - that couldn't be right, they were letters carved into the stone, they couldn't shift (ink, she could accept, could flow, could shift, but these were stone words,...

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"I feel boxed in," she said.

"I'm sorry?" he replied, not quite understanding.

"Well, the basic thing is this: the image is quite boring, and the color scheme is obnoxious, a weird, misguided attempt at the painterly surrealism that Richard Linklater's Waking Life first presented in film. Add to that two gigantic butterflies, and the whole thing just falls apart. But despite the silliness of the painting, however, there's really no room for absurdity. Characters can't wave pistols around or smoke cigars or get hit in the forehead with boards. I'm boxed in. I have nowhere to go. It's too...

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In 1921, he flew from the Great Rift Valley to the California shore

In 1934, he was spotted near a bank robbery that had gone bad

In 1937, he was in Acapulco, Mexico working the bar at the El Luna Hotel

In 1942, he was in love but it wasn't mutual

In 1953, he discovered the secret of anti gravity

In 1963, he made his first suicide attempt (pills)

In 1967, he bought a grocery store in El Segundo

In 1971, he became tired and bored

In 1974, he wrote that song - the one she loved

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Well, it's not everyday that you actually get woken up by a ghost that you didn't believe in, but there it was (he?) - a fuzzy apparition perhaps imagined more than actually manifesting before your shimmering eyes in the night (shimmering to eyes as tinnitus is to ears) - and the thud of the door as it fell from it's hinges to the floor. It (he) was assumed to be the grumpy man who lived 89 years alone in the old house, leaving crates and crates of dusty homemade wine in the basement, bottled in old milk bottles stopped with...

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"Grandpop's teeth didn't look like that."

"How do you know?"

"Because mom always said you got his teeth. Do your teeth look like that?"

"Maybe after they'd been in the ground for fifty years."

"Not even. Look at the length of them."

"No, teeth keep growing after you die."

"That's nails, dummy. And they have to be attached still. You think teeth keep growing if they're just loose like this?"

"Who can say?"

"You know who would know?"

"Yeah, but she can't exactly tell us, now can she?"

"Well, she'd know for sure."

"Grandma's probably the one who did it...

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"can you get my squeaky toy for me?"
"OK. where is it?"
"under the couch"
"OK...geez Pancakes...how many toys can you fit under here?"
"i dunno how many are there?"
"Six!"
"well then...six i guess."

And thus began the story of Tall Guy and Zeke Andrew Pancakes.

It started out as a bit of a joke I suppose. I opened a Facebook account and a Twitter account for my dog Zeke. I posted semi-regular interactions between him and I, and much to my surprise everybody played along without even being asked. Everybody treats Zeke as a separate entity and never...

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She knew more than she was letting on - then again, that was her weapon. That was the way she lived her life, mostly on her wits.

He'd been watching her for longer than he should, longer than he'd been contracted to. He'd taken the case on (and that sounded ridiculous, he wasn't a detective, he was just a man) and had found himself captivated.

It wasn't lust. Wasn't love either. Neither of those things interested him, especially not with her (she may have been beautiful, once, a long time ago, or maybe she would become it when she grew...

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The lamp wouldn't turn on. That was really the least of his problems. It meant the electricity had finally been turned off. So had the water, the cable, and the gas. At least they had waited until the spring. It was warm enough to not risk freezing that night.

Jacob wondered through his house, filled with useless possessions. He touched the television and the fridge as he walked by them, exiting the house and into the beautiful April morning.

The birds were chirping and a steady drone of cars racing down the highway filled his ears. He took a deep...

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Waves. The sound was the first thing she noticed. She had to be somewhere near the ocean. She took a moment to register her immediate situation. Her right hand grasped a jutting piece of rock, and her left held tight to a thick branch that had somehow taken root in the cliff face. Her feet rested on a narrow ledge of rock that was no more than a few inches. She was thankful for her small feet, which her mother used to say were her best attribute.

She had to be at least 20 feet up. The ocean was too...

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