140Story - Day 55

 I'm writing a story 140 words at a time and posting the results here daily.  Can I sustain interest?  Will I lose the narrative thread?  Find out in this next installment of Bullets Ain't Cheap

was covered with them.  Not an inch of the station was outside camera range.  Not even the spot where I had taken cover.
    “They’ve been playing me for weeks.”  I felt like an idiot.  “Michaels is Telrik.  Has to be.”
    I looked to Kelly for reassurance, for his measured assessment that I was wrong.  He was nodding.  “It’s the only answer.  They’re pushing me out into the open.  One way or another.”
    “And you’re letting them?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing from him.
    Kelly only nodded again, then checked the doors.
    “But they’ve been after you for two years,” I hissed.  “Why are you doing this now?”
    “Because you finally took their bait,” he said with a sad, resigned smile.  “They knew there was no way I’d let you get caught in the middle all alone.”
    He always

Run With Scissors

If I were in charge of a charity event, I think I'd like to see us raise money by needlessly endangering the participant's lives. I mean, we've seen all sort of fun runs, and awareness walks, and pancake breakfasts, and wine tastings, and... well, you name it. Nothing very memorable and certainly nothing very dangerous.
   But think of the 'awareness' and notoriety you could get your cause if you put people in jeopardy on purpose. As far as local news is concerned 'if it bleeds it leads,' so why not play into that? Here are my suggestions for charity fund raising events that are guaranteed to end in tragedy and TONS of publicity.

MDA Bear-baiting
United Way Dirty Needle Tatto-fest
Doctors Without Borders Semi-Annual Train Trestle Dare
Red Cross Cinderblock Swim
American Cancer Society 10K Scissors Run
Gates Foundation Rabid Possum Catch
Susan G. Komen No-Parachute Jump
Habitat For Humanity Nail Gun Dodge-Em
Greenpeace Medical Clinic Dumpster Dive
PBS 'Startle Our Oldest Donors' a-thon
March of Dimes Untrained Lumberjack Week
World Wildlife Fund Maximum Security Prison Experience
Amnesty International 'Is This Really Poisonous?' Night

OMG

You ever have one of those days when you see one thing, and then all you see for the rest of the day is that same thing, over and over and over? It'll happen with numbers, for instance, you see 37 early in the morning and then it's nothing but 37 for the rest of the day. Or you see a lady with a yellow dress and then you see the same yellow on every third person. It's either some grand synchronicity or you just have that thing on the brain. I'm putting my money on synchronicity. Why? you ask. Well, I'll tell you...
   This morning I got up early to work out. As I'm walking to the gym, what do I see but some distracted woman in a minivan parked in front of the driveway of the old folks' home across the street, texting. I suppose it's a saving grace that she wasn't driving, but she was blocking out the food delivery truck. How she missed that huge vehicle in her rear-view I don't know. Unless, of course, she wasn't paying attention. Which she wasn't.
   Coming out of the gym, which is by the cooking school, I see another distracted woman, a student judging by her white coat and gray pants, texting while walking across the street. She was still in traffic when the light changed. She did not get run over, but only barely.
   At the grocery store, a distracted woman was texting while parked so close to my truck that I couldn't squeeze between the two vehicles, let alone open my door to get in. I did not give her finger or take a crowbar to her rear window, though I desperately wanted to. Homey don't want to go to jail, after all.
   While pumping gas what do I see but a distracted woman half-in half-out of a parking space, paused to finish texting. While she was taking care of business a line of three cars formed, all of them trying to get to the pumps, which she was blocking.
   Just now, in the rain (which makes all Angelenos insane in the membrane) yet another distracted woman pulled over to the side of the road, texting. Problem is, she pulled over into a red-zone bus stop, and seemed genuinely surprised and upset when the bus driver honked at her repeatedly and flashed his lights. Maybe she wanted to give everyone waiting for the bus a ride in her Lexus?
   Perhaps I'm just looking for it, maybe I'm sensitive to it, or maybe it's the rain. Or a full moon. But this is just stupid. There's no text you're receiving or sending that's worth risking your life, let alone mine. Especially mine.
   Kind of makes me wonder what's coming up tomorrow. Chimney sweeps? That would be cool, to see chimney sweeps everywhere. Or C.H.U.D.S. Or monkeys with tin cups full of $100 bills, ready for me to collect. That would be especially cool. Let's make that last one happen, Universe.

Be Still My Heart...

The elevator in my building is fixed.
   Yes, FINALLY. It's been over a year since it gave up the ghost, and now it's repaired, inspected and ready to go up and down like an elevator should.
   I'm positively giddy, and I swear I squealed like a schoolgirl when I saw the inspector down in the garage pressing buttons and making things happen. Right now I'm a big fan of elevator inspectors. I almost asked him for his autograph. I'm thinking of putting his picture up on my bedroom wall next to my poster of Leif Garret.*
   I took my first ride just now, and it was all brand new, like the rosy blush of young love or your very first hit of crack, anything seemed possible. I wasn't taking the stairs like a chump, I was standing still, like Americans should, letting a machine do the work my legs had proved perfectly capable of doing until that very moment. Ah, good times, good times...
   I have to confess, though, the elevator car smelled. Not offensive, just stale. Like something that had been sitting unused for thirteen months, closed up and untouched. Like going into a storage unit you haven't opened for quite a while, that kind of stale. And a little damp, probably for the same reason. And I felt just the slightest bit claustrophobic, I didn't recall the elevator being so small. But still, it was a good visit.
   So now I have a decision to make every time I drive back into the garage. Do I take the stairs, which I have done every single day I've been here for over a year, or do I wimp out and take my old friend the elevator? I dearly love my old friend, and I miss him and his buzzing clanks, but I'm not so sure he was good for me. Never once did I decide to sit out the evening in the garage because I was too tired to climb the stairs, so there's no real reason I would absolutely NEED to use the elevator. I'm not feeble, not after a year of climbing the stairs every day. But I know that since my good buddy Elevator is ready to help me out, I'll probably use his services more often than not.
   Because I'm a lazy American, that's why. Don't you judge me, with your Chocodiles and your pork rinds and your NASCAR... Say, when is NASCAR coming back? February? Gotta stock up on Chocodiles now that the elevator is working again.



* 'Mom? Who's Leif Garret?'
He was like Shaun Cassidy or Rick Springfield.
  'Still not sure...'