Life tax

I have accepted that every day I have to pay 'life tax'. It's just so much easier than trying to fight it. Like a friend of mine who gets all anxious about not giving a few coins to the car guard, or who gets so annoyed at beggars at intersections. His argument is "why don't they go out and get a job?" I'd like to see him in that situation - much easier said than done.

The squeegee guys used to make me mad - now I just accept them and either give them money or negotiate with them to leave me alone. It was so worth it when one thanked me one day... I asked him really nicely not to clean my window because I didn't have any money to give him - and he smiled and said I was a nice lady who knows how to talk to people.

Fantasy Invention #1

Let me begin with a disclaimer: I am NOT a violent person. Honest!

But sometimes I wish I had some sort of gun or rifle mounted on my car steering wheel. This would not be for stupid, bad drivers - that's far too boring.

I would use it to shoot at people who litter - people who throw junk out their car windows as they drive. There's also the occasional walker who throws stuff down the gutters, causing our roads to flood whenever it rains. Grrrrrrr...

Note: If the item littered is a cigarette I should get 'double points' - maybe a chocolate could automatically appear in my ashtray? Just a thought...

A group writing effort...

This is a continuation of a story that was started by Kat here. Chris at Spontaneous Fiction followed and Raynwomaan provided an extension to the piece. Purplesimon took the next step, followed by T here.
Here's my contribution...

The Early Days

The dark was still inpenetrable. How long had she been sitting there? Four hours? Maybe five? The waiting game. How she loved to play.

Ms. Friday had a routine, and it would be her downfall. Noel just had to wait for exactly the right moment.

Even with her patience, the air vent was starting to feel cramped and stuffy - probably because her small, muscular frame was actually blocking all air flow through it. But this was the only way. At least she had removed her clothes before settling in. Sweating wasn't her style.

Waiting gave Noel time to think and process the evening's events. When had Ms. Friday turned? And more importantly, why?

Noel thought back to when they had met. Noel was 14, living on the street and getting high on anything she could lay her hands on. Ms. Friday was the dealer's girlfriend. She knew her as 'Louisa' back then - a quiet, unassuming girl who watched the drug scenes unfold around her. Always watching, never partaking.

It was only years later that Noel realised Louisa had had the plan all along. One day the dealer showed up dead, stabbed in the eyes, throat, chest and crotch - 27 times in total. This had been personal.

Louisa and all his money was gone. And so was Noel.

***

Ok - Jackie (who doesn't have her own blog) has made a contribution, so the story continues here...

Enter Handyman

The lab below was bathed in blue fluorescent light – essentially cool for maintaining the composition of The Corporation’s premium range of pharmaceuticals. Noel knew Ms. Friday made a 4 o’clock call to check on her babies and, with only an armed guard on the outside, Noel would get no interference when she dropped in.

At a few minutes to four Noel heard the distinct echo of Ms. Friday’s wedges on the steel runners. She’d already wriggled back into her clothes, used the doctor’s comb to jostle the maintenance cover out of its frame (handy weapon she thought) and now braced herself for an attack.

The door slid open and in stepped Ms. Friday….with Handyman on her arm. Noel gasped and jerked out of view. This was unexpected – Ms. Friday always did her rounds unaccompanied.

“That wily bitch has finished off Scramton and I’m not sure what her next move is. If she’s in the compound, I want you to find her and string her up for a slow death.” Ms. Friday’s voice trailed off as the two moved towards the tube-filled cabinets. Noel took a deep breath and remembered...

Handyman did a lot of Ms. Friday’s dirty work. He had a way with blades, especially the serrated type, and could target an inch of vulnerable flesh at 200 paces. The two were thick as thieves but make no mistake - Ms. Friday was both master and mind of the pair. Handyman and Noel had trained together but Ms. Friday never allowed them any contact once they’d been activated. Handyman was like ice and wood with nails in between – he never showed a glimmer of emotion. Except once…

Great Lyrics... Part 5

Dinosaur Jr - you either love him or hate him. If I simply read his lyrics they don't seem to have that much impact - you really gotta hear him sing them! Anyway, this is one of my favourites...

Mind Glow

It's been runnin' for a long time
And it's runnin' out in my mind
I can't explain it all to you
It's really jumbled up

So for longer now I'm messed up
And I'm wishin' now I'd 'fessed up
That concern's no use to you
It feeds the pain that stung

So forget how I am dealin'
Explain to me the feelin'
It gets to that point instantly
You're ready to unload

And I'm the one you're spitting at
I'm ready for my fitting at
Doesn't make much sense
But when I get it calm it's slow

It's hard to admit anything
I'm sorry for the weight I bring
I'll do whatever's necessary
To make your mind glow soft

It's played out too far to stew
And I've run out of grace with you
So I'm out and take a walk
And we'll be better off

Whether I lied
As much as you tried
Whatever you decide
I hope it's good to you

For everybody's sake
Lord knows we all need a break
Do what you got to
This is hard to take

To the time I spent discussin'
I'll sit back and stop the fussin'
I won't mention it to anyone
And we'll be better off

I won't admit to anything
Sorry for the weight I bring
Do whatever's necessary
To make your mind glow soft

Whether I lied
As much as you tried
Whatever you decide
I hope it's good to you

For everybody's sake
Lord knows we all need a break
Do what you got to
This is hard to take