6- "Uh, oh!" RT Shores

"What did you do now?" Asked my roommate. 

He must have heard me outside.

"Threw the keys in the roll-out with the trash."

"Gross. Better you than me." He went back to lounging.

"They're your keys." I stood in the doorway with hands on my hips.

"Uh oh!" He echoed my previous exclamation earlier. "I'm comin'."

5- A Game of Skill - RT Shores

ISteph and sat in the independent coffee house, waiting for our drinks. I spied a free Chess board and grabbed it.

Steph nudged me under the table. "Don't look now, but a hot guy with his own Chess set came in."

"And..." I asked.

"He's mine." She said with a strange tone. I shrugged.

"May I join you ladies?" Mr. Perfect asked.

I ignored him, studying my first Chess move.

Steph must have nodded, batted lashes over large blue eyes and tossled her blond hair. He pulled out a seat across from her and sat cooly.

I made eye contact and he said, "You can ditch that board. I'm going to play her on mine." 

 I ignored him and studied his small, magnetic set. I chuckled. "Thought it would be larger." He turned red and Steph kicked me. 

There was a tiny detail he didn't know, besides Steph being married, she didn't know how to play Chess. I was going to teach her.

I watched from the next table and waited for someone to play me. It didn't take long. An elderly man joined me and we soon had a lively game going.

I listened to Steph whine at the next table about plays and moves. I finished my game with my partner and he left. Steph went to the restroom.

Mr. Perfect sat across from me. "Set it up." He demanded.

I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest. "Dude, you may be used to bossing around women, but I am not one of them. Set it up yourself."

He was taken aback. I was older, heavy, but smart, skilled and my 'pretty' grew on you.

He set it up, making himself the white player, probably feeling intimidated now.

Steph came back and stood watching us pouting as we flew through the game.

She made a big show of sitting alone at the other table and fiddling with the pieces.

"Checkmate!" My partner exclaimed. 

I shook his hand and said, "Good game."

"Well of course! You played me. Rematch?" He asked.

"Why not? You scared?" He was trying to egg me on.

"Nope. Bored. That's why I let you win; to get rid of you. Go play with my friend and she's married, by the way."

Luckiy Steph and I had come in seperate cars. I walked out and drove away. She may win at her dangerous game, but I won games of skill.

4. I got away with it. J.F. Hire

I was in the getaway car, rushing to the nearest exit, and home free. Well, I would have been, out it weren't for those damned meddling birds.
They weren't exactly having it out for me, but they somehow did me in. I had the loot, was on the highway, and the feathery fucks were en route to intercept me and my squad of merry theives.
So they dive-bombed the car. Their little beaks popped through the old rag top of the car, squaks and caws deafend us, causing us to wreck into a nearby field.
As we came to, the officers approached, and they said:

"Next time, if you want to avoid cop birds, don't be so seedy."

4- I Got Away With It - RT Shores

It was desperate times or I wouldn't have done it...

~~

The Strip was dangerous right now and everyone was laying low, but Lane was sick and I had to raise some money to her some medicine.

I headed out with a baggie of joints. I would make more money selling joints than larger amounts and it was easier and safer.

I walked Tenth Street to Piedmont and it was mostly abandoned. There wasn't one dealer in sight. That was exciting, but also frightening.

A 'straight' approached me and I hoped he was cool, but I 'felt' he wasn't.

As I slid my hand down the side of my bikini underwear, I saw him look over his shoulder. Two other men began heading his way. 

I stalled and then ran like the dogs of hell were on my heels.

"Freeze! FBI!" I ran faster and made the turn onto Piedmont and the Strip was crowded suddenly. 

My friends and acquaintances tripped the men and stalled them in imaginative ways.

I saw a car of college hippies ready to pull out of a club parking lot and yelled, "Open the door!"

They opened it and I dove in on top of them. (Luckily I was small.)

"Drive!" I screamed and they took off, one closing the door as I curled up. 

"Who's after you?" One asked.

"FBI and thank you. I will hook you up."

"Excellent. Atlanta is dry right now."

"No, just dangerous for us to get it to you." I said, still full of adrenaline.

"Then why do it?"

"My roommate is sick and we have no meds. Could we go by The Fruit Jungle? I will give you half for saving me, but need to sell the other half to buy her meds and maybe a little food."

"An ounce, already rolled, so if you could give me twenty, you get a good deal"

"Sure!" The driver said.

I gave them the baggy of joints and reveived a twenty.

I bought flu meds and juices and was wiped out. 

"Would you mind dropping me at home near Tenth at Piedmont Park?"

"Glad to." The driver said. 

They came in with me, for these were friends I wanted to keep. I hadn't noticed they were carrying bags too. They headed to the kitchen and headed to Lane with apple juice and meds.

She gawked at the people. 

"They saved me from the FBI." She gaped at me. 

"You got away?"

"I got away."

I told out new friends to come by anytime since I would be stuck at home for awhile. They nodded and thanked me, as I did them; profusely.

After they left, i went  to the fridge to put the juice away and found it full of food. Then I noticed packaged foods on the counter with a twenty dollar bill sitting under a can of soup.

College hippies...the best!

3. Class Picture J.F. Hire

Everyone here has a few knit sweaters, some hooded robes and sashes to don their attire. I've got something like burlap to festoon my hair with, and nothing but a sack of a dress to wear over my tail and fur. In this rat-race, where everyone can hear gossiping squeaks from a mile away, it's easy to know your place in the class system. 

You're poor, or you're gone. It's all a matter of raising in level, until you're some kind of cream of the crop, and you move on to greener pastures with more opportunity. But with all that opportunity at your doorstep, I imagine there's less fulfillment.

Mama Rizzo would always say: "Well, when you're that well-off you don't need a job." 

So then why is it so easy for them to get what they want? She tells me not to worry my little 'bobble head' about it. 

So at picture day today, I would just sit, have my picture, and go to class. 

Well, that's what I should have done. 

Instead, I decided to take what I wanted. So I left school, and went to the nearby bakery that those giants ran. It wasn't exactly dangerous, because it was just rummaging through their trash. 

I took my share, what those would have wasted, and counted my blessings. It wasn't long after thanking God when brimstone rained down upon me, and tore through my most lovely clothing. I rushed back to school, avoiding the pelting rain, just in time for photos.

They told me to wait last, because I would dirty the pedestal with my clothing.

In reaching for my piece of the pie, I managed to cover my face in it, and descend even lower on the ladder.

3- School Picture Day RT Shores

My mom walked me into her Cosmetology school and to her friend's station.

"Terry, you remember my daughter, Val?" My mom asked.

"Why sure I do, but she's missin' some hardware there." 

I felt naked with all my piercings removed.

Terry gestured to her chair and I hopped into it. "What can I do for you today, besides cut off the dead ends?"

I looked at my mom. "Whatever Val wants Terry. She wanted a different look for class picture day."

"Okay, I will just listen then." Terry said and sat down next to me.

"Can we color over all these colors and make it uniform?" My hair was: pink, purple and blue, but faded now.

"Sure. What color do you want?" She looked at my roots. "Reddish brown?"

She pulled out a color ring with dyed hair and I chose one and my mom nodded and smiled.

"Uh, while the color sets, could someone do my eyebrows?" They were closing in on unibrow territory.

"Yep. Wanna manicure too?"

"No thank you." I didn't have enough money saved for that too.

"Make-up? Our expert is here today and since your face is naked, it would be perfect."

"Please. All I know how to do is Goth or wild."

~~

Two hours later I looked like me, but a younger, less angry me. My hair was shiny and moved when I shook it. It tipped my shoulders, so not too short.

My face still looked naked, but good and my unibrow was gone. 

Mom was smiling broadly. "Your picture will be great."

~~

I wore my stocking cap and big glasses until picture time and then shook my hair free and applied a light lipstick. I looked good. My glasses were fake anyway, so I tossed them.

Picture done and I sighed. Whew! I wouldn't have to worry about having weird comments this year.

No one recognized me, so I just left school after lunch and walked home. I began to wonder what I would do tomorrow.

The hair wasn't going to change, but I could replace my piercings or...not.

I said aloud to the breeze, "I'll decide tomorrow whom I want to be."

2. Outline a plot in one paragraph. J.F. Hire

A group of six dogs arrived at a vacated festival, where rain had flooded and ran everyone out. They began their search for food, finding exotic things like fried chicken and chips. A pregnant dog set up camp nearby the garbage. As night fell, the dogs were all settling down in a couple tents, as the female of them began to give birth. Once the pups arrived, they nestled in the trash and refuse of the abandoned area; they were content, so long as the humans who did this weren't around.

1. Meeting the Contact - J.F. Hire

Let's assume for a moment that there's a race full of moral, ethically-driven people living on that blue marble. And furthermore, let's assume that there's a reason for them to help us. Now, just to add a bit of luck to the equation, let's imagine a universe where there's no such thing as the Inter-Galactic Race Wars.

Well, tomorrow we can only hope for these cards to be in our lap, because that's when we're meeting him. He's the one contact willing to represent the billions of people, and millions of varieties of them, without batting a lash. He will not be threatened by our demands, and we cannot back down from them.

We will demand reparations for the blindness embedded into their culture, their willful ignorance to us, sitting on the mere outskirts of 'their' solar system-- our home.

They litter the planets we share with rockets, drones, wandering trash, awakening multiple atmospheres with their filth.

So tomorrow we're going to wake some people up, during that meeting, when our shiny, clean rep is speaking to theirs, we'll be taking to the planet.

It'll be a bit difficult to ignore us when they're staring at us face-to-face. Imagine you've finally discovered what you've been theorizing for years, only they've known about you for so many generations, that our children come bearing scowls.

2- Plot Outline - RT Shores

Two hippies head to Atlanta after Woodstock, in the Summer of '69. They have no money, shoes or a home, but they have freedom. Their adventures in, and around Atlanta, lasted almost two years and then they went home; new people - better people.

Describe Your Surroundings - J.F. Hire

"The only way that I can guarantee getting you out of there is if you can tell me exactly- and I mean EXACTLY what you see around you..."

"Uhh, I..."

"Take it slow, just start with how bright it is, what's underneath you?" The officer on the other end said while his partner tried to scramble for an unencryptic way to track to received call.

"It's dim, and I'm on glass." Ston said.

"Okay, good. Like, broken glass?" The officer asked.

"No, like, I'm on a window. I can see Andromeda." 

The officer took note, nodding. "Okay, go on."

"And there's- I can see the ISS! Like, I can see that it's right over the South pole, It's halfway through its daily rotation." Ston shifted, adjusting the awkward bindings around his arms. 

"Good, very good. Now, can you tell me more about the vessel you're on? Is it a freight? A personal supply truck?" 

Ston tried to see what was nearby, kicking a few boxes that had slid toward him toward the trek. "It's full of orange crates, like the kind you see fruit shipped in?" 

The officer chuckled. "You're doing really well! We've got you narrowed down to less than 25% possible vessels."

"There's, something else, something weird. I think it's, hold on." Ston shuffled closer to another window, his embedded headset making muffled shifting noises. "It's... the Soviet flag."

There was dead air from the part of the officers, who all seemed to stop what they were doing. 

"Is that so... I'll okay, good job, just hang tight. Stay calm and I'll let you know what the plan is, just, stay calm."

The officer muted the call, and sat back on his desk, looking at his colleagues. "So... We all know that the soviets haven't been allowed in space for what, two centuries? So, let's think, there's no reason why..." 

"There is one reason." A new guy chimed, adding, as if everyone hadn't been thinking it. 

"Well, you know. That hole that opened up weeks ago. It's been sucking things out for days now. I just." 

"We know... It's in the only thing. Those quack scientists were right... Seems like we don't have a black hole, but a worm hole."

The silence punctuated the lack of celebration. No black hole was a good thing, right? 

"Sucks that it's full of communists." 

1- Meeting the Contact - RT Shoressuspence

My reflection told me I was crazy. Where were my trenchcoat, umbrella and Hamburg? I knew that was sixties spy-wear, so opted for soccer mom apparel: jeans, running shoes, T shirt and a light jacket. My make-up was light and my hair pulled back in a loose pony tail. I nodded and thought it would work.

I let a green bandana hang out of my jacket pocket and left my condo to hail a cab. 

"Starbucks on Trade, please." The driver nodded and took off. My gun, in my lower back, bit into me. I straightened in my seat and thought about the meet.

I remembered my supervisor's words: 'Don't do anything stupid this time!' 

It wasn't my fault I was emotional, loud and made mistakes in the field. Well, it was, but I had a lousy handler.

The taxi braked quickly and I slid off the seat.

"Sorry, lady." He wasn't. I gave him a smaller tip and headed inside to meet my contact.

I hadn't sat with my back to any door in over ten years, so picked a table in the middle of the far wall, emergency exit to my left. 

While I waited for my coffee order, someone took my seat, but I could get rid of them.

I sat next to my seat thief and just began talking and asking questions. By the time I asked if he was married, he hurried out and I scooted into his spot. Now I was set.

Thirty minutes passed and I wondered if I had missed someone. My jacket was in plain sight with the bandana showing and I was reading an ebook on my tablet.

A man sat down to the left of me. He was  'just a normal looking guy'. 

"Good book there?" I would know if it was my contact with his answer.

"Yes, The Passage. Have you read it?" 

"Actually, I have and I'm reading The Twelve now." 

"I am ready to read that. This is my second  reading of book one."

"If you don't mind a paperback, I have a spare here. My wife bought it for me, but I already had the ebook."

"If she won't mind, I would love it." He handed it to me, picked up his coffee and left. 

I stayed another thirty minutes, reading the book and then packed up and hailed another cab.

It dropped me at the train station on Trade and I boarded, heading North. I got off at Sixth Street and double-backed and walked through Fourth Ward until I got to the office. 

I went in the public entrance and asked if I could speak with someone about a quack of a hypnotist in town. 

I handed the receptionist my ID and he scanned it. "Right this way, Ma'am." He had me sit in a small waiting area which let  me bypass the metal detector.

My boss walked in and we shook hands. He made a show of taking notes and nodding, even asked a few questions.

We both stood and shook hands again and I left. No one saw him pick up the book I left behind.

~~

I continued surveillance of different sights, suspects or assets and waited to hear news of my most important meeting to date.

After two weeks I was told to meet at South Park Mall in the food court and order anything and sit in the middle wearing a green shirt and white jacket.

I was early and I was sure my contact was too. Sitting in the middle was very uncomfortable; no one had my back.

A woman walked quickly to me and greeted me by name. I gestured the empty chair to her and she perched on the edge.

She was loud and bubbly and professed missing me for so many years. I nodded, smiled and laughed.

She lowered her voice a bit, "I remember your last report in school. It was quite good. Did you go on to be a writer?"

"I just dabble now. The kids keep me running." She nodded.

"I still remember your paper and how a kid newspaper reporter broke up a ring of dog thieves. Good job. Okay, I have to run now and you take care." She was gone.

So, I had helped break up some kind of criminal ring. I smiled to myself and finished eating. It wasn't the meet I expected, but I loved the good news.

Describe My Surroundings - RT Shores

It is 0519; for you regular folks, 5:19AM. Peanut, almost fourteen years, is on my lap and we are watching a TCM classic movie. Loretta Young and Celeste Holm play nuns; yada yada yada.

For clarification, Peanut is a cat. She is a soft orange tabby with a stubborn, but playful streak. 

I am in my chair/bed and pretty comfortable right now. It's a little chilly, but I hate to move Peanut to grab my blanket. 

Two lamps burn as I hunt and peck at my cell phone screen. 

The birds are coming to life now, but we need seed for the bird feeders. The squirrels will be glaring through the windows today. They eat the sunflower seeds so fast, but I love to watch their antics and acrobatics.

BBQ, our formally feral cat, is hunting a mouse and just raced past me to the fireplace.

The room is painted a seafoam color that was a great choice, but needs freshening. The curtains need to be changed, for after six years, I am bored with stripes.

I love the white noise in the room. The fan dulls the awakening traffic sounds. The TV is very low, but the cat's ears have still  perked up to the church bells in the movie.

The room is full of treasures and gifts, books and computer screens, but my faborite view is through one of the seven windows; heavily covered from the dark now, of course.

 I will open a set of blinds and curtains soon and be ready for squirrels glaring at me for more 'birdseed'! Silly squirrels...

My First Car - RT Shores

My friends dropped me at our friendly neihborhood service station so I could pay for my first car. 

The year was 1967 and your driver's license was paper. The station was full service and owned by two brothers.

They had a car for me that was indestructible. I smiled as I looked at my beauty and handed Mendel, the boss brother, forty dollars. We signed the title and the other brother notarized it. I then called mother's insurance company and got insurance.

Thomas, the mechanic, approached me. He was one of my best friends which was frowned on, for he was a black man and it was the sixties, but he was old and wise and my feigned innocence never got past him.

He shook his head at me and told me, 'Chile, you won't break this as easy as yo' mama's cars.'

I had ruined a car or two of mothers. Luckily, she blamed the street conditions and the brothers and Thomas kept my secrets.

"She's a beauty, right?" I glowed looking at my baby; my car. She was kind of burgundy and white, built like a tank and an Oldsmobile. Sure, she was old, a 1954, but she looked good. 

I turned the key and she roared to life. I cheered and waved good bye, ready to pick up all my chums waiting for their first ride.

The guys shook their heads and I smiled knowing I was safe in the tank.

What killed her? Seems you can't go even slightly airborne and expect her to survive for long. 

She was towed away right before my graduation and I learned to ride the bus. It was a sad day.

My First Car - J.F. Hire

My first car was a bike. It had three wheels, which many believe would classify it as a trike, but fuck those people.
My attachment to the bike was skin deep, insomuch that I would ride it, fall off, and lose skin.
One day I lost the trike. Some say that it was misplaced by me, but I knew the truth. It was stolen by the old neighbor; he was far too large to ride it.
I called the police on him.
They told me to give the phone to an adult.
Thus began the series of events which involved adults conspiring against me.

Like the tax collectors.

Describe Your Surroundings

A woman is walking along the side of the road, carrying bags of groceries in each hand. Her age is difficult to guess; her body is that of a woman in her early thirties but years of North Carolina sunshine and smoking several packs a day have toughened and wrinkled her skin. She wears tank tops, very short shorts, and an embattled expression. We drive past her.

The road travels between family farms and residential neighborhoods where the paint on many of the houses is peeling. Children's toys are strewn all over porches. Front yards bear signs that announce the love Jesus feels for each passerby. Weeds push their way through the cracks in the sidewalk. A dog runs loose. It approaches the road, we slow down, it turns away and runs the other direction.

We turn a corner and onto a street lined with grand Victorian houses in immaculate condition. SUVs fill the driveways. Tall trees arch elegantly over the street. A man is jogging down the sidewalk.

At the intersection, we roach the downtown. The old courthouse looks down at us with dignity. Ahead lies a main street that seems to have been preserved in time for decades. Two blocks of store fronts contain gift shops, handcrafted goods, restaurants and cafes. We find a place to park and enter a coffee shop.

A tall woman with tattoos and a drawn out expression of resignation takes my order of coffee and a Reuben sandwich. I look across the room at the other patrons, who are all absorbed in their phones and laptops. "So," I say to my companions, "This is Concord. I guess we have arrived."

At The Food Cart - J.F. Hire

Friday night means takeout. It's not just a matter of preference, but a matter of law. Saturday through Thursday, people were allowed to eat however they chose, although fast food was encouraged. Takeout night was mandated by the county commissioners due to a few decades back, when people were so health-conscious, that fast food companies and takeout restaurants were going out of business left and right. 

"Grab me a few packs of salt, Jonah." Skyler was setting up the window-seats for the three of them. Their college dorm, floor 32, was opened to receive mandated takeout. Once the pair of them were situated at the window, they pressed for it to open, turned on their "Open" light and waited. The counter-top was juxtaposed in a way similar to working a drive-thru window. Hannah finally came in, decked out in some supremely comfy pajamas, before taking a seat at the end of the bar and preparing her plate. "Is there anything new on the menu today? I know, it's June, so it's probably fish, but..." 

With a couple of shrugs, they went contemplative. "So, tomorrow, should I do a slow-roasted pot of cabbage and organic potatoes?" 

Before they could discuss it much more, the sound of the food-cart approaching was heard. Via hydraulic lift, the take-out carts all rose, scaling the building's facade in such a way that made them look like beetles traversing a tree. 

The signage came into view, and the room deflated from their already less-than-enthused state. 

'Fish and Chips!' flashed in their faces. Having been through this before, Skyler knew what everyone was going to order, the only thing really safe on the menu: "Uh, yea, hey. Just give us three plates of chips, and your flounder. And no, we don't want any sauces. Thanks, here." He passed over their vouchers. 

The server/cook/cashier shook his head. He was new. "No-no, I have something special for you to try. Don't you like new things? Come on, I have samples."

They all suppressed groans. "Oh, I don't know," Hannah started, "we're all just a little tired, ready for some of the usual, and then bed."

While they protested visually, the brunette server held up a calloused, pale hand. From off the side, he pulled a long tray of sashimi, and a fine array of nigiri. "Sushi platter..." He insisted. 

Wary, they were pressed to try a rice-ball. The slight sweetness of the rice vinegar met with the dab of wasabi hidden inside not only surprised them, but woke up their pallets accordingly. They all agreed, and purchased the platter.

"Oh, and one thing," the server smiled, handing them each a special bit of sushi, where black seaweed had been cut out in such a way to give the balls of rice faces, winking and smiling. 

"You didn't get it from me," he finished, and his cart rode on.

The risk, indulgence, and mystery surrounding the entire transaction was enough to make the three of them want more. 

It was the first successful marketing scheme in years, and they would never find out how very unhealthy that fast-food was. 

At the Food Cart - RT Shores

We sat at brand new picnic tables waiting for our friend's food truck to open. We would be first in line.

His truck was named 'Eclectia'. I read the menu, stomach growling, and chose a battered sausage dog on a stick with a side of real maple syrup for dipping.

We lined up, but an elderly woman with a walker asked to go first and we acquiesced. 

The window opened and we waved and cheered. The old woman hadn't read the menu and ordered poached egg with dry toast and weak tea.

Our friend did his best to make her happy, but she grumbled at everything and sat down. 

We all ordered the same thing and left big tips. It helped to cheer him on.

The old woman walked back to the window and wanted her money back.

"Sure. Just bring back the uneaten food and I will refund your money."

"Oh, I ate it all, but your sign says if I'm not happy, I get my money back. I'm not happy." Our friend smiled graciously and refunded her money. 

We watched as the old woman chuckled and left. We then watched our friend paint over the refund sign and shake his head.

"She was slick, wasn't she?" He smiled and we were glad we had tipped very well.