When I saw this week’s photo prompt two things immediately popped into my mind—dogs marking their territory on a fire hydrant, and the album “Street Corner Talkin” by Savoy Brown.
I decided to run the first idea past our black lab, Buster. He put his paws over his face and growled something about pet-profiling then threatened to report me to AARP (American Association of Retired Pets).
After seeing what happened to Paula Deen, and in fear of being banned from Pet Smart for life, I decided to go with the 2nd option. Still, with any luck, today’s offering is bound to offend someone somewhere.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Engineer in charge of booking studio time, and a Top Ten literary artist on everyone’s chart, is the “Belton Belle” Ramona Jo Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF “Hollywood Squares” author seating chart click here.
“Beat it!” he shouted.
The girl looked left and right. They were alone on the sidewalk. “Are you talking to me?” she asked in disbelief.
“Bingo, sister. You may be dumb, but at least you’re not deaf. Now, move along. This is MY corner.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play stupid with me. If you want to work the street in this town find another corner. This one’s taken.”
“Oh, I see, Mr. Snooty. And what makes this corner so special?”
“See the sign above that shop.”
“The Blue Hair Salon, so . . . .”
“This is where cougars come to play.”
BTW – I’m always open to constructive criticism. If you’ve got suggestions how I can improve my writing I’d love to hear ’em.
Poetry, Horror, Psychological Thrillers
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This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
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