One’s Own

He felt a fool in white tights and the thin Capezio slippers.

Zoritch walked around him, inspecting his body from all angles as though he was a sculpture.

“Turn out your leg, like so,” said Zoritch. “And arms thus.”

He did as directed, watched the mirror as the master studied him.

“You want my opinion, then?” said Zoritch.


“You have an ideal physique for ballet, but at eighteen you are far too old. Boys at the Kirov start when they are five, six. Physical attributes, yes.  But the mental toughness? It is doubtful.”

It was the perfect thing to tell him.

Friday Fictioneers

This is a true story.

Conditional Remorse

I guess I wasn’t thinking. I never meant for it to go so far. I was just shook by the insult, I guess. If I’d cooled down some, I probably wouldn’t have done it, and that little girl wouldn’t be paralyzed.

It wasn’t like it would never have happened sooner or later. Butler was always lax on wheel safety. A good many of them bolts was stripped so’s you could turn ’em with your hands anyway. I just loosened up some of the others.

The truth is if they hadn’t fired me none of this would have had to happen.


Friday Fictioneers

Ray Is Fine

I guess you could say I’m between opportunities right now. Me and the foreman had a bit of a disagreement about my job performance. It got a little ugly. I didn’t go to jail or nothing, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.

Anyways, I’m kicking back at home for a spell. I’m not worried. I can do it all. MIG, TIG, SMAW,  brazing, even wrought iron if it comes to it. One or two calls and ol’ Ray’s back in the game.  I’m not in any hurry. Rent’s cheap enough, and I got another check coming.

Yep. Ray’s fine.


Friday Fictioneers

Oh I Geddarountuit

I swear, Randy, you are the laziest man I ever seen. You sit there on the hot porch and you won’t even bother to fan yourself.

Why I should fan myself, Mama, when I got this here cold beer you brung me? And thanks, by the way. If you happen past the kitchen, maybe get me another?

If I wasn’t sure you were my son I’d wonder where you got such a powerful ease.

Mama, one of us working so hard should please the Lord enough to smile.

Why don’t you at least fix up that fan like you promise?

Friday Fictioneers

Glasgow Sunrise

Pain. At first, just that. Pain. Blood in my mouth. Eyes gummy with it.

As it starts to get light,  my surroundings begin to clear. The train yard. I must have fell from that bridge above.

No, not fell. Dropped. I remember now. A little.

I can see my hand now, curled on the steel rail. It looks all right, but I can’t move it.

What else? My legs seem to be bending the wrong way. The right one looks like it has two knees.

My ear is pressed against the cold steel rail. I feel it start to thrum.


Friday Fictioneers

Up or Down


Thames Watermen are ten a penny, but one what don’t gossip about particular passengers is not so easy to find. That’s where I come in. Special service, discreet and reliable. Local knowledge. I know where the current’s swift, where it eddies, the best way to keep from being observed by those in high windows. I keep a spare black cloak handy, since a man in a hurry might forget such things. This service comes at a cost, mind you. Not your twopence fare at all––sixpence usually, and if you want speed it will cost you a shilling. Mum’s the word.





“You remember when they tore down the Shamu building?”

“Oh yeah. That one on Pender with the whales on it. I forgot all about that.”

“Remember when we broke in that time?  We hauled that fucking television up all those stairs and dropped it down the elevator shaft. Man, I will never forget how loud that fucker was when it hit! Pow!”


“You okay, buddy? You sound sad. I can go if you want.”

“No, stay. Please. It’s good that you came to visit me.”

“You need anything?”

“A new spine, maybe. To walk again would be nice.”


He’s Such a Quiet Boy

Sunday Photo Fiction Prompt.



You’re lucky he didn’t see you take it. What will you do when he sets it up and sees it missing?

Maybe he won’t notice.

You think he won’t notice? There’s only so many pieces. The game uses all of them.

You don’t know that. You can’t even play checkers.

Yeah, smarty? Well, if they didn’t need all the pieces why put them in the game in the first place?

Well, I was just saying you don’t know for sure.

He might kill you this time. He sees it missing, he’ll know for sure you’ve been in his things. He told you to never.

I know. I just can’t help it.

He’s got other things in there, you know.

You mean the gun.

Well, he’s a lot bigger than you are. That time he used his fists—

You don’t got to remind me.

He might think twice, you throw down on him.

“Throw Down?” Where you getting these words?

Oh, I know more than you think I do. I only tell you what you can understand.

Will you show me how to work the gun? If I take it?

I’ll show you anything you want. You just gotta promise me something first.

My Name is Speedway Randy.



Not a bad likeness even though I quit smoking mostly


I guess I need to put an About page on this thing. Normally I am pretty reserved about my background, but since this is the Internet and everything I’ll just let it all hang out. Hide in plain sight, like a terrorist running from a drone by heading to a soccer stadium. If there’s one thing we learned from the drone wars it’s that there is no wedding large enough to hide you from automated death from the skies. I mean, isn’t always  at a wedding when these guys get hit? I didn’t even know Islamic terrorists even got married. I guess they’re re-thinking that policy now! Hell yeah! “We want a quiet wedding between Ali and Pashma. Just a few close family members. Oh, and it’s in a bunker.”

But I digress.

I thought the best way would be to open the floor to questions, but since as yet I have zero readers I will just go ahead and answer questions I ask myself. I would probably do that anyway no matter what questions I was asked. So here goes:


Why are you called Speedway Randy?

Jesus. What a stupid question. Why are called Jared? Because your parents conceived you in a Subway crapper, or because you’re fat and wear khakis ten sizes too big? I’m not even going to justify this one except by saying because that’s my goddamn name.

Are you datable?

I wouldn’t know. I don’t know that metric. I’m not a woman, and I don’t ever go to “woman sites” like Cosmo or Gwynneth  By the way, does she name everything after fruits and vegetables, or only her kids?

What’s the best way to cop a free buzz if you’re in jail?

With this one, I have some experience. There’s my favorite, which involves hanging your head down between your knees and hyperventilating, then standing up real fast and pressing your thumbs against your carotid while you push out with your lungs like you’re trying to pop your head off. The added bonus happens if you pass out and bang your head since shock is a pretty wicked buzz. Worth the nausea, even.

What’s your worst job?

That I ever had? I’d have to say being fourth dishwasher at a big Chicago hotel. I got all the shit jobs, like cleaning out the grease traps and scrubbing the range hoods with myriatic acid. That shit wore the skin of both hands right off. Nobody told me I head to wear gloves. I also cut up a bunch of chiles ones at this Nouveau Mexican restaurant and went to take a piss. I tell you, it was like I jammed my dick into a barbecue full of hot coals. Again, nobody told me. Now I always ask if i should wear gloves. With some jobs it’s weird, but I figure you can’t be too careful.

Are you fired a lot?


How old are you?

Next question.

Who is somebody in the Public Media you admire?

My answer will probably surprise and maybe disgust you (and it’s not Hitler). I have to say Charles Manson. Now hear me out… he may have been a psycho baby-killing cult freak who did his tags in movie star blood, but you must admit the guy has style. All that recent flap about him getting married to that super young chick was pretty cool, and also there was a scene in Mad Men when they had a guy who looked just like him. But the real deal with him is that when he was young he was in Alcatraz. This was way before he made a name for himself as a criminal.They called him Little Charlie on account of being so scrawny. Anyway, he wanted to be a country music star, so he asked Alvin Karpis, a former Public Enemy Number One who had been on The Rock (yeah, they really called it that) since 1936 and had learned to play every Hank Williams and Jimmy Rogers song on guitar, for lessons. Karpis turned him down flat, saying he was too lazy and sketchy to put in the work.

Actually, screw Manson. Karpis was probably right. I don’t admire sketchy people that much. The girl didn’t even marry him. I’ll say Kanye. He’s an asshole, but it works in his favor.

Any advice for a youngster just starting out?

Yeah. Bring a weapon. Especially if that weapon is your mind (taps head).