I hadn’t meant to stay the night, wanted to avoid the dreaded morning after, but I must’ve fallen asleep at some point because I woke to the smell of bacon and peppers so strong it was like they were coming straight through the hand-carved gaps Ms. Laughlin’s ornate rosewood headboard. I checked the clock—9:30 a.m. Save for my annual two week vacations I hadn’t slept in that late on a weekday since college. I guess being unemployed, or in Ms. Laughlin’s case unemployed and divorced, had its upside. The whiskey from the night before throbbed in my temples, pushed at my ear drums like altitude pressure. I pulled on my jeans and shirt and stumbled to the bathroom. She had porcelain his-and-her sinks. His was free, I figured, so I turned on the water and stuck my head in, wet my hair and face, turned my mouth and chugged it straight from the tap like I used to from the garden hose back home during all those sweltering Midwestern heat waves. Spinning the knob closed I smoothed my cowlick down to a manageable level then dried my face with a plush white towel embroidered MKL. In the kitchen Ms. Laughlin lifted a frying pan from the stove and spooned its contents onto two plates.
In the kitchen Ms. Laughlin lifted the frying pan from the stove and spooned its contents onto two plates. She pushed one toward me across the granite counter island. I stared down at the slabs of bacon cut thick and crisped at the edges, a pile of home fries sprinkled with bit of red and green peppers. I folded a slice of bacon into my mouth and chewed it down in about two seconds.
“Well, good morning to you, too, Mr. Paul,” Ms. Laughlin laughed. “I figured if your hangover was even half as bad as mine you’d appreciate a little fried meat. Coffee?”
She held up ...
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...chuck the shit just don’t do it off the motherfucking roof again.”
“I told you, it wasn’t the roof. It was my window.”
“Whatever the fuck, man. The point is you could hurt somebody.”
“Okay, Fernando.”
“I’m serious, man. It’s one thing if you want to go crazy and destroy your own personal property and shit, but that don’t mean you gotta go putting other folks’ well-being at stake. You know what I’m saying?”
“Okay,” I said again.
“Next time it might be somebody’s head that catches that shit, rather than a nice cushy pile of garbage.”
“Okay, okay, okay.”
“You sure you don’t want to catch a flick?”
“Fernando, I’m exhausted.”
“Yeah, unemployment can be exhausting. Am I right, Pauli D?”
“You’re right, Fern. You’re right. Don’t call me Paulie D.”
“Then don’t call me Fern, motherfucker. Only Ern’s allowed to call me Fern.”
“Okay, bye Fernando.”
“Peace easy, my man.”
* * * *
“When Mr. Payne was alive…” “Mrs. Payne, a pain in the butt, a punch line of the joke to every fifth grader. Yesterday she’d been as flat and clear as a pane of glass. Today I gazed through her sagging breasts and jowls and saw her as a young woman, as young as Ms. McDaniel, a mystery slipping out of her nightgown and into the arms of her beloved” (Perabo) It is 8:30 on a Wednesday night at Dunkin Donuts in North Haven. I am sipping my latte as I finish Susan Perabo’s “The Payoff”.
3.?Against the dark background of the kitchen she stood up tall and angular, one hand drawing a quilted counterpane to her flat breast, while the other held a lamp. The light on a level with her chin, drew out of the darkness her puckered throat and the projecting wrist of the hand that clutched the quilt, and deepened fantastically the hollows and prominences of her high-boned face under its rings of crimping-pins. To Ethan, s...
“No, you rip those boys right off him. You can’t always defend yourself. You’ll have to be willing to fight for things you love.”
“Wow! You were as hungry as I was. Be a good boy and I’ll see you later.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she began applying liquid stitches ointment Dr. Browdeski had given her to fully mend her wounds. When she’d finished, she grabbed a cold bottled water from the mini fridge in their bedroom and popped a couple of the Oxycontin painkillers the doctor had prescribed for her. After washing them down she started feeling the numbing effects of the narcotic. Going downstairs to the bar, she fixed a stiff glass of vodka, hoping that it would put her exactly where she needed to be, in the bed and out of her misery, even if only for the
...t is our job, as citizens, to at least be prepared for the criminals’ attack and to be able to defend ourselves in time of need. At the Virginia Tech shooting, the responding police officers took approximately three minutes to reach the school, but about five minutes to break through the chains binding the doors together. Cho fired rounds off for about nine minutes. Out of those nine minutes only four, or less, could have happened, if a professor or other college personnel stopped the aggressive action before the tragedy was completed. Police cannot get there fast enough sometimes to save a life; citizens must be prepared for the worst. One thing is for sure, one would rather have it and doesn’t need it, than need it and doesn’t have it. People often ask themselves, “Why should I have a gun?” Well guns are needed when seconds count, and the police are minutes away.
He had poured himself a drink of whiskey.He had sat down in his chair, watched Mary.They had sat. Patrick had begun to get up to make himself another drink, although Mary quickly jumped up to offer him another drink. He scowled for her to sit down. There was a long pause in the conversation. Patrick had, later, stood up, as well as looked as though he had bad news to tell his loving wife. Patrick told Mary he was to leave. Minutes of mindless explaining from Patrick had happened. After it all, again, there was long pause as Mary stared in shock while Patrick stood in distress. Mary had stood up in shock insisting on making dinner. Patrick had refused to eat it, telling her in advance. She still went to the freezer, picked up a leg of lamb, frozen. She slowly walked over to the back of Patrick. Without thinking, Mary had swatted the back of Patrick’s head as fiercely as she could, releasing all of the anger with the sadness she had received from the man that day. She stood, watched him fall. Mary’s mind was racing with thoughts of the future. She quickly turned on the oven along with placing the leg of lamb in. Later, she touched up on her makeup, at that point, headed toward the
She walks up the stairs. The house is very noisy. The music is so loud that the floor vibrates. The smoke alarm is off and the little girl is coughing and sneezing. The living room looks cloudy. “What’s burning? What is up? Whose jacket is this?” Linette asks hanging her bag. “What has come over my son, God?” She asks rhetorically looking up the ceiling. “Didn’t we discuss this before I left for Dubai?” Linette asks Brian, her eldest son who is slowly becoming a drug addict. “What are you up to this time round? What are you smoking, my dear…pot?” Linette asks as she bends to pick pieces of what looks like packaging manila. “Oh my goodness!” She pauses. “Look at what you are doing to your sister. Can’t you spare her at least?” Linette wonders as she stretches her arms to pick up Kimberly, her youngest daughter. “Mom…” Kimberly utters. “I miss you!” Kimberly says as she reaches her mother’s ears. “I know ma’am! I am back and I missed you too. How are you?” Linette asks as she looks into her daughter’s eyes. “I am hungry. I ate lunch, though!” Kimberly
Then she saw a greasy china plate that had bread crumbs, cheese and sausage. The pungent of cheese made her stomach grumble. The man was very rude and insulted her because she couldn’t read. Then Frances headed home and on her way, she bumped into a girl with a nice, green, winter coat. She imagined her Ma in that coat, twirling around with a smile on her face. The girl’s mother said a rather offensive sentence about Frances and walked away with her daughter.
It's been nine years since he left home at eighteen to escape his parent's iron cages and leaching love. It was a moonless autumn night, cooler than usual. Everything seemed to be in order: tables set, plates stacked, cups washed, shades drawn, lighting just below half for ambiance, music audible but not intrusive, air temperature at a comfortable range so women can decide to remove their shawl or not and men can keep their vests or choose to set them aside. Neatly, of course. He watched as a man entered, bringing a wave of cold air with him. This man, older, was certainly not the type to dine here. Royce's intuition was telling him something was very wrong. That’s when their eyes met. It sparked a cold sweat to bead up around his hairline. But his training kicked in and his feet moved silently and politely over to where the man was waiting to be seated. The words 'right this way, sir' slipped from his mouth as it did thousands of times before, as he chauffeured the man to an empty
Throughout this chapter Schlosser takes his reader through the journey of the french fry from spud to stomach. Schlosser uses his talents to educate the world about the ins and outs of the processed food and flavor industry, informing the fast food nation, “Why the fries Taste Good.”
Honestly Kat, you always take hoouurs to wake up. I’ve been up since six.’’ She peered over at the stove, ‘‘Food?’’
“Wow, think highly of yourself don’t you, Tony -- maybe just a little too much, just saying. The average person in a room about to get killed normally shows a little – conciliatory human behavior. I wanna snap your scrawny little neck now. – You’re just a dick.”
...of chili and three spaghetti-o’s. After he had finished eating he decided that he had better get some rest, he went to bed in the small cot he found in the corner. He slept well in the warmth of the cabin, but awoke to the sound of a gasoline engine. Startled he looked around and saw a woman rekindling the fire. She saw him looking at her and told him he was ok, and that when he was ready her husband would take him back to town. She had already made coffee and some pancakes, and told him he was more than welcome to have some.
He washed a mouthful of hardtack down his throat with a tin of boiled water. The biscuits tasted like dry cardboard, but he had grown accustomed to it. He'd hardly had a choice. After all, where could he find any other source of nourishment these days? He wrapped the leftovers in a clean, silk cloth, leaving them for dinner. The meagre meal did little to sate his hunger, but he'd learned to ignore the constant grumbling of his stomach. On...