It had been a challenging 19 years, and Rose knew she deserved a reward for surviving it. She had been saving up and finally had enough. She already had a license plate on her dusty rose colored Ford POS that read ROSETAT2. Now she could afford the tattoo to go with the plate.
She took a deep breath and walked into the tattoo parlour. She had been carrying the design with her for four years, since drawing it in a freshman year art class. Two years before she had given birth to Lily. She remembered those days like they were yesterday. Back when she had to answer to her parents and teachers and everybody.
Now, life was different. She worked at the Legz Club, taking her clothes off and dancing for strangers. She didn't have to answer to anyone. No one was the boss of her. She knew she was lucky, able to leave Lily for days. They owed her that. She was able her to live the free and easy life that suited her best. Living in a small trailer, parked in her parent's driveway. Rose would get up after noon, enjoy her breakfast beer, smoke a couple of cigarettes, shower and shave, smoke a bowl or two, and when possible, spend a few minutes with Lily before heading over to the Club. It would take her a good hour to get her makeup on and dressed for the show. Once the bar began to smell like a used ashtray, the music got louder, and Rose and the other girls would move toward the stage, ready for another day of work.
Today was special, it was Lily's second birthday. Rose had worked a double shift, and now that it was 4 a.m., officially the anniversary of hte day she gave birth. She planned to commerate it by getting her first ever tattoo. She and the girls had done celebration shots before leaving the club, then she headed over to the tattoo joint. Knowing how tight money was, what with the cost of pot, vodka and smokes, she wondered whether she might even be able to get a discount from the tattoo guy if she offered to handle him. Never hurt to ask, men are so damn easy.
As she entered the tattoo parlour, she heard an odd buzzing sound. Rose looked around, trying to find the source, then realized it was the tattoo machine. She chuckled and relaxed a bit. A thin, dark haired man covered in tattoos, wearing skin tight black jeans came out to greet her. "I'm Rose, I called about getting a tattoo today." "Sure, I remember you, you had your own design. And you asked about tattooing your daughter, right?" He stuck out his hand, "I'm Jim." She nodded, then dug into her purse and pulled out her special rose design. She told the guy she wanted it placed on her right arm, everyone would always know Rose. Jim looked it over carefully and nodded. He beckoned her into one of the side rooms, and asked her to take a seat.
Jim examined her arm, and then took some tracing paper and traced the outline of the design. Rose sat nervously, finally pulling a small bottle of vodka out of her bag and taking a deep drink. Jim ignored her, concentrating on his tracing. Finally he turned to her, "have you ever had a tattoo done before?" She shook her head no. He began to explain the process, but Rose wasn't paying much attention, she was too busy watching the way his mouth moved as he talked. He had really sexy lips, she thought. He looked at her arm again, wiping it down with alcohol. The chill made Rose shiver, and she hoped she looked hot. Jim was definitely warming her up. He carefully applied the tracing he had done to her arm, and pressed it against her arm, causing the outlines to stick to her arm. He got his ink and his tattoo machine ready, then turned back to Rose, who was trying to look hot.
Jim asked her, "ready?" She nodded, and the machine started buzzing. She felt a shooting pain in her arm, but managed to refrain from flinching. "Ow" she said, and Jim apologized. Rose tried to relax, but the pain was making that difficult. "How long will this take?" Jim shrugged his shoulders, "probably an hour or two." Rose wished she could light up a joint to help her relax. She asked Jim if she could smoke, and he shook his head no.
Rose was a bit surprised there was no smell, she thought for sure there would be some nasty smell involved, instead, it was just a sharp, constant pain and pressure on her arm. And the sound. It was a constant loud buzzing, kind of the way life sounded after she had too much to drink. She couldn't wait for this to be over, as she watched Jim dab the blood off her arm. After about five minutes, her endorphins kicked in, and suddenly, each thrust of the needle was a kick, almost a sexual pleasure. She closed her eyes, and fantasized about Jim without those tight black jeans, as he pushed the needle in and out of her arm.
Before she knew it, the tattoo was complete, and Jim was admiring his handiwork. Rose decided to give him something else to admire, and tugged on her shirt, as if to adjust it, but enough to expose her nips for him. She giggled as Jim blanched and turned away. He presented her with a sheet explaining care of her new tattoo, along with a bill for his services, which she paid for with cash. Rose pulled her shirt up, and looked at her tattoo with pride. That's me. Rosetat2.
Another in the license plate series. Hope you enjoy!
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Nadia's Doll
I watched as a little girl played with a beat up old nekkid, scraggly doll while she waited on line. It got me to thinking, and inspired this little tale.
Nadia wakes up in the morning, and goes looking for her doll, only to discover once again, she is scrunched in the far corner of the bed, as if trying to escape her grasp. The child tunnels under the bed sheets until she is able to grab the doll by a foot, and pulls it into daylight. A quick hug, and then Nadia throws the doll onto her pillow and goes to wash up.
Still dripping from her shower, Nadia hugs the doll, leaving a faint dampness on its body. As Nadia dresses, she chatters, as if expecting an answer from the doll. Nadia puts on her shoes, and realizes that once again, she's forgotten how to tie her shoe laces. So she grabs her doll by its hair, and they head downstairs, careful not to tread on the trailing shoe laces.
Nadia's mom ties her shoelaces, lecturing her to pay more attention. Nadia is too busy trying to give the doll a proper hairdo, and manages to ignore her mother's words. Cereal is poured, and Nadia attempts to feed the doll, who wants no part of either Count Chocula or the chocolate milk that it creates.
Time for nursery school. Nadia grabs the doll by a finger, and whips her into her school bag, stuffing all its limbs into the overflowing backpack. Off to school. Nadia holds the back pack on her lap, talking to the doll through the canvas fabric, ignoring any chance of human interaction.
School time, and Nadia gingerly opens the back pack, removing the doll ever so slowly. Smiling, together they sit at a table, coloring. Nadia tries out a shade of dark blue on the doll's foot, just to see if it looks good there. It doesn't, and she tries, unsuccessfully, to wipe it off. When it remains where she placed it, Nadia slams her doll into the table, hoping that will cause the crayon to disappear. It doesn't, and she begins to cry.
School is over, and Nadia waits for her mom to pick her up. She has not placed the doll into her back pack, which she is wearing on her back. Instead, she is holding the doll by its hair, and is staring madly at the blue crayon on the doll's foot. When her mom arrives, Nadia tells her that another child colored on her doll.
Dinner time, and Nadia sits at the table, the doll seated on her lap. She tries again to feed the doll, this time, spaghetti o's and succeeds only in making the doll's mouth an odd shade of orange. After dinner, Nadia and her doll play a game. Nadia holds the doll by its hair, and swings it around, releasing it to watch it fly.
Bedtime, and Nadia and her doll are tucked in by mom. Nadia holds the doll tightly, as if it will keep away any possible nightmare or ogre. Slowly, she falls asleep, releasing the doll, allowing it to make its nightly attempt to escape by crawling to the bottom of the bed.
And such is the life of a doll.
Nadia wakes up in the morning, and goes looking for her doll, only to discover once again, she is scrunched in the far corner of the bed, as if trying to escape her grasp. The child tunnels under the bed sheets until she is able to grab the doll by a foot, and pulls it into daylight. A quick hug, and then Nadia throws the doll onto her pillow and goes to wash up.
Still dripping from her shower, Nadia hugs the doll, leaving a faint dampness on its body. As Nadia dresses, she chatters, as if expecting an answer from the doll. Nadia puts on her shoes, and realizes that once again, she's forgotten how to tie her shoe laces. So she grabs her doll by its hair, and they head downstairs, careful not to tread on the trailing shoe laces.
Nadia's mom ties her shoelaces, lecturing her to pay more attention. Nadia is too busy trying to give the doll a proper hairdo, and manages to ignore her mother's words. Cereal is poured, and Nadia attempts to feed the doll, who wants no part of either Count Chocula or the chocolate milk that it creates.
Time for nursery school. Nadia grabs the doll by a finger, and whips her into her school bag, stuffing all its limbs into the overflowing backpack. Off to school. Nadia holds the back pack on her lap, talking to the doll through the canvas fabric, ignoring any chance of human interaction.
School time, and Nadia gingerly opens the back pack, removing the doll ever so slowly. Smiling, together they sit at a table, coloring. Nadia tries out a shade of dark blue on the doll's foot, just to see if it looks good there. It doesn't, and she tries, unsuccessfully, to wipe it off. When it remains where she placed it, Nadia slams her doll into the table, hoping that will cause the crayon to disappear. It doesn't, and she begins to cry.
School is over, and Nadia waits for her mom to pick her up. She has not placed the doll into her back pack, which she is wearing on her back. Instead, she is holding the doll by its hair, and is staring madly at the blue crayon on the doll's foot. When her mom arrives, Nadia tells her that another child colored on her doll.
Dinner time, and Nadia sits at the table, the doll seated on her lap. She tries again to feed the doll, this time, spaghetti o's and succeeds only in making the doll's mouth an odd shade of orange. After dinner, Nadia and her doll play a game. Nadia holds the doll by its hair, and swings it around, releasing it to watch it fly.
Bedtime, and Nadia and her doll are tucked in by mom. Nadia holds the doll tightly, as if it will keep away any possible nightmare or ogre. Slowly, she falls asleep, releasing the doll, allowing it to make its nightly attempt to escape by crawling to the bottom of the bed.
And such is the life of a doll.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
IMSMRT
She smiled. There were few things she enjoyed more then driving with the top down on her brand new baby blue VW Bug. She smiled again as she switched on the cd player, and one of her favorite driving tunes, the Eurythemics "Let's Go" began to play. As she put the car in reverse and pulled out of the driveway, she automatically reached to turn up the song, as she sang along with Annie Lennox.
The Bug backed onto the street, its "IMSMRT" license plate glistening in the sun. She was happy. Happier then she'd been in a very long time. She put the car into gear, and raced down the street, heading to the parkway. The wind blew her hair across her face, and her smile widened.
As the car moved down the parkway, for once, traffic was moving. Today, everything was working in her favor. The sun warmed her, bringing a sense of new life. She thought about where she had been just a few months ago. How different things were now. All because for once, she had played it smart.
She liked her new life. She liked being a member of the sisterhood of the smart, instead of the foolish girl she once was. All it had taken was one phone call and a lot of courage. So what if she had given up all elements of the crappy life she once called her own. Here it was a Tuesday afternoon, and she was off, sailing down the parkway on her way to the beach.
Her former life. It made her laugh out loud. She remembered what it had been like before that day when she picked up the phone and made the call. Her life had sucked. She had a job she hated, a lecherous scumbag boss with hands like an oily octopus. She had lived in fear of life and living.
Her boss had capitalized on her meekness, and had never bothered to notice her intelligence, choosing to focus on her blonde hair and big boobs. But underneath the fear, hair and tatas, she was and always had been a smart girl. She learned the details of his business and had made a list of all the names and numbers to seal the deal against him. Not only did the authorities provide her with a generous reward, a new identity, and a new life, but she had managed to skim a nice amount from the lech without anyone knowing. She figured it was ample payment for all the time his filthy hands had groped her in the hallway. She knew she had made the right moves when the scumbag had graciously eliminated the need for her to testify when two months after his arrest, he blew his head off with the Glock he kept in his top desk drawer.
Now, her life was free and easy. All the good. None of the bad. She reminded herself of all she accomplished with her "IMSMRT" license plate. She had a cool car, money in the bank and the smell of the salt air. As she pulled into parking field four, she reached for the blanket in the back seat and headed for a nice warm spot in the sand.
This is one in a series of fiction blogs inspired by license plates seen by me in my travels.
The Bug backed onto the street, its "IMSMRT" license plate glistening in the sun. She was happy. Happier then she'd been in a very long time. She put the car into gear, and raced down the street, heading to the parkway. The wind blew her hair across her face, and her smile widened.
As the car moved down the parkway, for once, traffic was moving. Today, everything was working in her favor. The sun warmed her, bringing a sense of new life. She thought about where she had been just a few months ago. How different things were now. All because for once, she had played it smart.
She liked her new life. She liked being a member of the sisterhood of the smart, instead of the foolish girl she once was. All it had taken was one phone call and a lot of courage. So what if she had given up all elements of the crappy life she once called her own. Here it was a Tuesday afternoon, and she was off, sailing down the parkway on her way to the beach.
Her former life. It made her laugh out loud. She remembered what it had been like before that day when she picked up the phone and made the call. Her life had sucked. She had a job she hated, a lecherous scumbag boss with hands like an oily octopus. She had lived in fear of life and living.
Her boss had capitalized on her meekness, and had never bothered to notice her intelligence, choosing to focus on her blonde hair and big boobs. But underneath the fear, hair and tatas, she was and always had been a smart girl. She learned the details of his business and had made a list of all the names and numbers to seal the deal against him. Not only did the authorities provide her with a generous reward, a new identity, and a new life, but she had managed to skim a nice amount from the lech without anyone knowing. She figured it was ample payment for all the time his filthy hands had groped her in the hallway. She knew she had made the right moves when the scumbag had graciously eliminated the need for her to testify when two months after his arrest, he blew his head off with the Glock he kept in his top desk drawer.
Now, her life was free and easy. All the good. None of the bad. She reminded herself of all she accomplished with her "IMSMRT" license plate. She had a cool car, money in the bank and the smell of the salt air. As she pulled into parking field four, she reached for the blanket in the back seat and headed for a nice warm spot in the sand.
This is one in a series of fiction blogs inspired by license plates seen by me in my travels.
ILLSUE4U
"I am one lucky guy," he thought to himself. He leaned up to check his hair in the rear view mirror, then winked at himself. "Not only am I lucky, but I'm hot too." He cranked the music, making it so loud that he could feel his windows shake. He chuckled as Carly Simon sang, "your so vain." "Yes I am baby, and I bet you'd want to do more then go to the racetrack with me." He shifted to a stop as the light turned red, and waited for the adoring glances. The smoke from his fat cigar made curlicues, as it tried to escape from the small gap at the top of the window, leaving him enveloped in a cloud.
Ever since buying his hot new 'lil red corvette,' he knew he had finally made it. He could tell by the longing gazes of nearby drivers, the lustful looks when he got out of the car. It was a different aura then back in the days when he drove a BMW. Then, nobody looked twice. But now, now he was a showstopper. People, more importantly, women, thought he was something special. And clients, well, his license plate, ILSUE4U said it all.
He loved this car. It was his baby, his chick magnet, and his advertising campaign. He had spent major bucks to get a phone number to match his license plate. It was pure genius on his part. So now, even when he was stuck in traffic, he was getting adoring looks and marketing his law practice. He was the king of easy settlements. If you had a minor injury, he would make sure you got a couple of quick bucks. If a case actually involved work, well, then he'd farm it out, making sure to retain a lien for 50% of any legal fee. He loved when that happened, all he had to do was sign up the client, and then a check would arrive on his desk. "Life sure is sweet," he thought.
He pulled into the office parking lot, it was immediately clear that parking his baby was going to be challenging. He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out his ace in the hole, his handicapped hanging parking space maker. Since there were no spaces available, and even the handicapped spaces were taken, he pulled right in front of the door and parked so that there was but a narrow passageway for anyone entering the building. He chuckled when he realized wheelchairs couldn't get by. Thank god for Dr. Feelgood, he thought, and for my bum knees. No one ever tickets handicapped cars.
He lumbered out of his sweetheart, knees aching as he maneuvered his bonus sized girth out the door. He could feel his knees creaking, and his tongue moving to the side of his mouth with the exertion it took to straighten up. Then, moving as gracefully as a 450 pound man can, he closed the door to his car. As he did, he noticed the leggy blonde eying him, and gave her a full smile. She turned her head quickly. He knew she wanted him, but was playing coy. God, he loved his life, and his car.
Another in the License Plate Series of blogs, short fiction based on license plates I've seen in my travels
Ever since buying his hot new 'lil red corvette,' he knew he had finally made it. He could tell by the longing gazes of nearby drivers, the lustful looks when he got out of the car. It was a different aura then back in the days when he drove a BMW. Then, nobody looked twice. But now, now he was a showstopper. People, more importantly, women, thought he was something special. And clients, well, his license plate, ILSUE4U said it all.
He loved this car. It was his baby, his chick magnet, and his advertising campaign. He had spent major bucks to get a phone number to match his license plate. It was pure genius on his part. So now, even when he was stuck in traffic, he was getting adoring looks and marketing his law practice. He was the king of easy settlements. If you had a minor injury, he would make sure you got a couple of quick bucks. If a case actually involved work, well, then he'd farm it out, making sure to retain a lien for 50% of any legal fee. He loved when that happened, all he had to do was sign up the client, and then a check would arrive on his desk. "Life sure is sweet," he thought.
He pulled into the office parking lot, it was immediately clear that parking his baby was going to be challenging. He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out his ace in the hole, his handicapped hanging parking space maker. Since there were no spaces available, and even the handicapped spaces were taken, he pulled right in front of the door and parked so that there was but a narrow passageway for anyone entering the building. He chuckled when he realized wheelchairs couldn't get by. Thank god for Dr. Feelgood, he thought, and for my bum knees. No one ever tickets handicapped cars.
He lumbered out of his sweetheart, knees aching as he maneuvered his bonus sized girth out the door. He could feel his knees creaking, and his tongue moving to the side of his mouth with the exertion it took to straighten up. Then, moving as gracefully as a 450 pound man can, he closed the door to his car. As he did, he noticed the leggy blonde eying him, and gave her a full smile. She turned her head quickly. He knew she wanted him, but was playing coy. God, he loved his life, and his car.
Another in the License Plate Series of blogs, short fiction based on license plates I've seen in my travels
AWSUMGOD
She was driving to work again. It seemed like she did this way more then she did anything she actually enjoyed. Today, she was heading out East to take care of yet another cranky old person. She suspected he would treat her like the hired help. Of course, she was the hired help, but that was beside the point.
She sat in traffic along the two lane road that leads to the Expressway. Two lanes. One in each direction. And way too many cars, all stopped. She wished the air conditioning in her Hyundai worked, but that was as beat up as the SUV itself. She had bought it from some used car dealer for $3,000, and it had quickly needed another $1,500 worth of repairs. Then some jackass had rammed into the passenger side, and now those doors no longer worked. And now she was sitting in traffic, burning gas at $3.05 a gallon, just sitting.
She thought about life and how it seemed to continue sucking. When she got the SUV, she somehow thought it was a sign her life was going to change for the better. She had even gone out and spent money on special plates, that read "AWSUMGOD". She believed the plates would give her that extra boost, after all, she was spending money to praise God. But it hadn't quite worked out that way.
After the accident, because she wasn't able to get to work until she got the money to fix the car, she had been canned from her old job. She had worked for a hospital, making beds and cleaning bathrooms. Her attendance record had always been spotty, due to the vagaries of transportation and her own lack of motivation. But at least there, she got a regular paycheck. Her kids appreciated that money, spending it on fancy sneakers and gadgets before she got a chance to pay most of the bills.
Now, she was a free agent, going wherever a job popped up. She tried to trust in her license plate, but was finding it harder and harder with each overdue bill that landed in her mailbox. She wondered how long it would be before they had to find a new place to live, and where she would find the money.
She took a deep drag on her cigarette, blowing the smoke out her wide open window. She thought about life. She thought about God. And she blamed him for all she was going through. "I need to get new license plates" she said aloud, to no one in particular.
She sat in traffic along the two lane road that leads to the Expressway. Two lanes. One in each direction. And way too many cars, all stopped. She wished the air conditioning in her Hyundai worked, but that was as beat up as the SUV itself. She had bought it from some used car dealer for $3,000, and it had quickly needed another $1,500 worth of repairs. Then some jackass had rammed into the passenger side, and now those doors no longer worked. And now she was sitting in traffic, burning gas at $3.05 a gallon, just sitting.
She thought about life and how it seemed to continue sucking. When she got the SUV, she somehow thought it was a sign her life was going to change for the better. She had even gone out and spent money on special plates, that read "AWSUMGOD". She believed the plates would give her that extra boost, after all, she was spending money to praise God. But it hadn't quite worked out that way.
After the accident, because she wasn't able to get to work until she got the money to fix the car, she had been canned from her old job. She had worked for a hospital, making beds and cleaning bathrooms. Her attendance record had always been spotty, due to the vagaries of transportation and her own lack of motivation. But at least there, she got a regular paycheck. Her kids appreciated that money, spending it on fancy sneakers and gadgets before she got a chance to pay most of the bills.
Now, she was a free agent, going wherever a job popped up. She tried to trust in her license plate, but was finding it harder and harder with each overdue bill that landed in her mailbox. She wondered how long it would be before they had to find a new place to live, and where she would find the money.
She took a deep drag on her cigarette, blowing the smoke out her wide open window. She thought about life. She thought about God. And she blamed him for all she was going through. "I need to get new license plates" she said aloud, to no one in particular.
Another from the license plate series, fictional blogs based upon license plates I've seen while driving.
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ONLY1
Sometimes, despite all her efforts otherwise, it overwhelmed her. The utter loneliness of her existence. When it hit, it would hit hard, sapping all her strength and will, leaving her trapped until the moments passed. By now, she was used to it. She had learned to ward off most of the danger signs, and could go months, even years without any challenges. Then suddenly, out of the blue, it would hit her. Numbing her. Utterly incapacitating. It was better if it happened during the week, when she was working and busy. Then she wouldn't have the total smackdown, as regardless of how bad it was, she was still able to get her work done and deal with the here and now. If it hit on a weekend, it was a different story. Then every little step was like running a marathon.
This was one of those weekends. No matter what angle she tried to use to escape its clutches, the loneliness came through. She had forced herself to be active, to interact, to be with people, yet that had only served to exacerbate her situation. As she conversed and made small talk, she watched the people around her, listened to their words. All the we's and the us. Why was it she was never one of the we's or us-es? Always an I. That solitary letter that seemed to symbolize all that was pressing down on her, that oppressing oneness.
She needed to snap out of it. To find a way out of this moment and into a better moment. She thought about how much she had to be thankful for – the toilet seat was always down and clean, she could sprawl across the bed, wake up when she wanted, do what she wanted when she wanted. It didn't work. She wanted more. Needed more today.
She got into her Porsche, the license plate, ONLY1, made her smile, just a bit. Reminding her again that she was proud of her life, and who she was. A start. She headed to the store, hoping that even a minor interaction would be enough to shake her from the darkness. Her Ipod had been acting up, and this was a good excuse to head to the Apple store. As she signed in, lucky enough to score a genius vacancy within the next half hour, she focused on resisting the urge to flee.
She moved around the store, playing with the gadgets. Glad she had left her credit card in the house. Why was it that the Apple people knew how to make products she yearned to own? How had they managed to tap into her dreams and desires, and create products that she knew would enable her to reach them?
She looked up at the genius desk schedule, and saw she was next, so she moved closer to the counter. There were two genius folks, one male and one female. The woman looked frazzled, and she hoped that was not going to be her genius. The man looked like he needed a serious makeover. Guess he's a 1 too, she thought with a soft smile. No woman would ever let him out looking like that.
With that, her name was called, and sure enough, she got the guy genius. He looked her in the eye and smiled. She tried with all her might to keep the tears down, as that was the first warmth she had felt from a man in too long a time. "I'm Gene," He said, "How can I help you?." "Gene, the genius. I'm Jeanne. Also a genius, but not with Ipods." He grinned a crooked grin, this one sincere, and Jean felt the moment finally changing.
This was one of those weekends. No matter what angle she tried to use to escape its clutches, the loneliness came through. She had forced herself to be active, to interact, to be with people, yet that had only served to exacerbate her situation. As she conversed and made small talk, she watched the people around her, listened to their words. All the we's and the us. Why was it she was never one of the we's or us-es? Always an I. That solitary letter that seemed to symbolize all that was pressing down on her, that oppressing oneness.
She needed to snap out of it. To find a way out of this moment and into a better moment. She thought about how much she had to be thankful for – the toilet seat was always down and clean, she could sprawl across the bed, wake up when she wanted, do what she wanted when she wanted. It didn't work. She wanted more. Needed more today.
She got into her Porsche, the license plate, ONLY1, made her smile, just a bit. Reminding her again that she was proud of her life, and who she was. A start. She headed to the store, hoping that even a minor interaction would be enough to shake her from the darkness. Her Ipod had been acting up, and this was a good excuse to head to the Apple store. As she signed in, lucky enough to score a genius vacancy within the next half hour, she focused on resisting the urge to flee.
She moved around the store, playing with the gadgets. Glad she had left her credit card in the house. Why was it that the Apple people knew how to make products she yearned to own? How had they managed to tap into her dreams and desires, and create products that she knew would enable her to reach them?
She looked up at the genius desk schedule, and saw she was next, so she moved closer to the counter. There were two genius folks, one male and one female. The woman looked frazzled, and she hoped that was not going to be her genius. The man looked like he needed a serious makeover. Guess he's a 1 too, she thought with a soft smile. No woman would ever let him out looking like that.
With that, her name was called, and sure enough, she got the guy genius. He looked her in the eye and smiled. She tried with all her might to keep the tears down, as that was the first warmth she had felt from a man in too long a time. "I'm Gene," He said, "How can I help you?." "Gene, the genius. I'm Jeanne. Also a genius, but not with Ipods." He grinned a crooked grin, this one sincere, and Jean felt the moment finally changing.
This is another in the License Plate Series, stories based upon license plates seen during my travels
CRE8TR
"Another busy day," Andrew thought to himself, as he adjusted his collar in the mirror. He had spent the day working, creating, and now he was off to Long Island to work with a college class. He thought about how lucky he was to be able to inspire youth to creativity, and that made him smile. He may not be the best looking guy, or the fittest guy, but if Ron Jeremy could make a fortune with his looks, so could he.
His dog Minx yapped, as if to make sure Andrew knew he needed to take a walk. Andrew took one final look in the mirror, then grabbed the leash and a plastic bag. Together, they walked down the driveway, Minx prancing happily, Andrew sighing, hoping she did her thing quickly, as he needed to hit the road. Minx lifted her leg on the back tire of his black Honda Civic, and relieved herself. Andrew shook his head. Every damn time she does that. He looked at his license plate, CRE8TR, and smiled. Yup. That's me. A creator and an inspiration. Minx turned her head to him, and they continued their walk. Five minutes later, they were back at the house, Minx shaking her fur out, and Andrew taking one more quick glance at his look. He blew Minx a kiss, then headed out the door to his car.
Off he went, arriving at Hofstra with a few minutes to spare. Andrew pulled the paper out of his pocket, his bag out of the car, and then searched out the classroom. He peered through the window, and saw the desks arranged in a semi circle arrangement, with an attractive, arty woman at the front. He guessed she was about sixty, but still had some flair and style. She saw Andrew, and smiled, then stepped out the door to greet him.
"I'm glad you're on time, the class hates waiting," she said. He smiled his patented seduction smile, and said, "I wouldn't dream of making them wait." She pointed him to the men's room, and he headed off to get ready.
Five minutes later, he entered the room, his bathrobe tied around his waist, as the teacher introduced him. "Class, this is Andrew. He'll be posing for us today." She pointed to a small platform, and he sauntered up, removed his robe, and tried to make himself comfortable. It was going to be a long three hours, but he knew that he would have their full attention, and what more could any man ask. He lifted one leg up onto the rungs of a chair, in what he knew to be a manly pose, and flexed, letting all his natural beauty be seen by all. He knew better then to suck in his stomach, as three hours was too long a time for that kind of vanity. His fifty year old body was looking good, and he thought to himself, "who knows, maybe I'll even get lucky tonight."
His dog Minx yapped, as if to make sure Andrew knew he needed to take a walk. Andrew took one final look in the mirror, then grabbed the leash and a plastic bag. Together, they walked down the driveway, Minx prancing happily, Andrew sighing, hoping she did her thing quickly, as he needed to hit the road. Minx lifted her leg on the back tire of his black Honda Civic, and relieved herself. Andrew shook his head. Every damn time she does that. He looked at his license plate, CRE8TR, and smiled. Yup. That's me. A creator and an inspiration. Minx turned her head to him, and they continued their walk. Five minutes later, they were back at the house, Minx shaking her fur out, and Andrew taking one more quick glance at his look. He blew Minx a kiss, then headed out the door to his car.
Off he went, arriving at Hofstra with a few minutes to spare. Andrew pulled the paper out of his pocket, his bag out of the car, and then searched out the classroom. He peered through the window, and saw the desks arranged in a semi circle arrangement, with an attractive, arty woman at the front. He guessed she was about sixty, but still had some flair and style. She saw Andrew, and smiled, then stepped out the door to greet him.
"I'm glad you're on time, the class hates waiting," she said. He smiled his patented seduction smile, and said, "I wouldn't dream of making them wait." She pointed him to the men's room, and he headed off to get ready.
Five minutes later, he entered the room, his bathrobe tied around his waist, as the teacher introduced him. "Class, this is Andrew. He'll be posing for us today." She pointed to a small platform, and he sauntered up, removed his robe, and tried to make himself comfortable. It was going to be a long three hours, but he knew that he would have their full attention, and what more could any man ask. He lifted one leg up onto the rungs of a chair, in what he knew to be a manly pose, and flexed, letting all his natural beauty be seen by all. He knew better then to suck in his stomach, as three hours was too long a time for that kind of vanity. His fifty year old body was looking good, and he thought to himself, "who knows, maybe I'll even get lucky tonight."
This is one in a series of blogs based upon license plates I've seen in my travels. More will be posted soon!
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