Sometimes, when it’s quiet, which is most of the time around here, I can remember what my life was like before moving to Omaha. First things first, I’ve reformed. From what you’ll find out later. Cool your jets. Here, in the city that always sleeps, I’m a real estate agent.
“Dan, Dan, you uptight man, how does your garden grow? With no room for mushrooms, marijuana or peyote does your garden know it’s supposed to grow? Dan, every once and a while you just have to go to the john and smoke a joint. You strike me as the kind of guy who’s born with a tie on.”
“Gannon, where have you been? Last I knew you and Leary were in the bakery business. I expected that the two of you would hang out a sign. Ya know, something like “Crooked Cookies” or “Burglarized Brownies” with menu items like “Do a Short Stretch with Our Strudel” or “Get Busted on Our Bagels”. Rumor had it that you guys had some pretty intense brownies and Continue reading Brownie by Charlie Coleman
He winked, she winked. Her wink slammed into his libido like a tennis ball ricocheting off of a racket. It sensually stung. It aroused his senses with the eternal vague promise that every man wants from every woman, that tantalizing tease of sex. A twenty dollar tip left on the stage sent a return volley of interest. She Continue reading A Blessing In Disguise by Charlie Coleman
“Gannon, where have you been?”
“I just had a short stay courtesy of the New York State correctional system. I got one of those weekend getaway deals kinda like you see advertised by the Marriott or Hilton dudes.”
It started out simply enough. They had been linked by friends who thought that they would be compatible. Whether they realized it or not the compatibility factor had been relinquished up to chance, a tough chance at that. E-mail addresses had been traded like spies in the night. This is where we pick them up, via e-mail of course.
“OK, Jeff, you’re first, tell me about your last three girlfriends. Why didn’t they take?”
So Leary and I are sleeping on the sidewalk outside of CVS. We get a wakeup call from the police who ask for ID. Does Continue reading Wake Up Call by Charlie Coleman
Carlos Thornton Williams squired his cherry red 1966 Chevy Impala down the Henry Hudson Parkway. The trip to Manhattan served as his weekly retreat. He was a Bronx baby and the Imp was his Bronx baby. Both were totally fueled. His octane of choice was Muscatel.
Cruising the highway he reserved one eye for the road and one for the cops. It was a fiscally sound principle to find cops before they found you. You didn’t need the Wall Street Journal to tell you that. He savored the last sweet drops of Muscatel licking the rim of the bottle neck as a man crossing the desert would if reduced to the last drops in his canteen. The drive to lower Manhattan was his pilgrimage to the altar of jazz, the Village Vanguard. As he breezed through the Bronx and Manhattan he would often glance at the apartment buildings that formed the urban shrubbery. He thought about the kids his age out there. They would never ever know what they were missing. They had their rock and roll and mod clothes. They had their rebellion. But were they really cool? No. They Continue reading Chevy by Charlie Coleman