I’ve been notorious for a lack of follow-through on writing the last few years. Hell, I’ve really only finished a single screenplay, four 20+ page comic scripts and a few other things. Not much for how much I talk and ponder. I’d even cop to less if it meant plausible deniability. So, why not just go ahead and start with the unfinished. That way we don’t have any pretensions: I’m lazy and awful.
I started the following for a prose entry for this years’ Tennessee Williams/New Orleans Literary Festival. I’m still going to try and submit something, just something different.
…
Jobs were not a kind subject to Jimmy Mann.
He had spent his youth in future ghostboxes and had developed secret dreams of being swept away in a sea of Tetris.
Across the fake-marble counter-top two quarters dance, rolling wildly. The pair soars between a cool cup of coffee and the melted remains of cobbler which skirt its stage. In a cruel act of passion, they collide and the jilted lover is tossed, crashing limp against the siphoned reservoir of Good Morning, America.
“Two slices to go, Kathy,” says Jimmy, sweeping up the begrudged silver and then twirling around-and-off the cotton-candy bar stool.
Moving to the faded three-shelf sunshine display, a nearly anemic pixie pushes back the door of the refrigerated cabinet.
“I didn’t think you were crazy about it,” chides the back of Kathy’s head.
Green roots peak out from the seclusion of her black hair wrap.
“It’s driven me mad,” Jimmy confesses, slinging his body onto the jukebox. “And it makes bargaining for kids souls easier.”
