Yeah, I’ve helped out in over a dozen bank heists over the past fifty years. Depending on your cut you don’t need the money after the first three, four or five jobs but you still need the rush. You need to continue doing what you’re good at, know what I’m saying ? But Jesus I’ve got grand-kids now and what I don’t need is a retirement gift of a bullet in the head. I’m trying to keep my nose clean. That’s why I started this here blog three months ago. Yeah, everyday I’ve pretended to be somebody different and that person’s intro is followed by a story that they claim to have written. It’s what my writing teacher calls “establishing voice”. Like you gotta know who’s telling the tale so I figured I’d let that guy speak for himself a little before the story.  Today I’ve run out of different voices and I just thought I’d step out from behind this mask and say hello. 
  Obviously, I can’t tell you my name. I live in a Spanish villa and a lot of people are looking for me. Let’s just leave it at that. I can also tell you that I’ve started reading Thomas Pynchon. I’ve lifted some details from Vineland to write the following short-short story.
  What do you expect ? I’ve spent my whole life taking what isn’t mine. 


Blowing up the Big Screen


     After two decades of writing prose that never saw the light of day – or even somebody else’s reading lamp – Trunch Wheeler declared war on the Enemies of Literature. “Movies have been cutting into our territory far too long,” Trunch explained to his one and only friend in the world, Jason Van Meter. “What we need is to strike hard.” Jason listened with a rolling nod of his head which really meant that he wasn’t listening at all. In fact he was thinking of his own next story about a draconian city where squeegee children were punished by being strapped to windshield wipers. In heavy rains their sopping wet bodies were slowly dragged up and down to remind them never to try to clean a stranger’s wind-shield. Jason nodded his head in excitement over the story he would write the next day. The roommates’ original plan – sketched out one morning on the blank inside of a ripped open box of Count Chocula – was for Trunch to write on even days and for Jason to write on odd days. When one was writing the other was to edit the snot out of the other’s work. They shook on the plan over two bowls of soggy Count Chocula five years earlier but both of them failed to keep the promise. They were so wrapped up in their own stories and thoughts that they rarely even listened to each other. Over breakfast cereal, they would talk at one another and Jason would nod or Trunch would hammer the heel of his left foot into the wooden floor. This morning, Jason nodded with excitement over the absurd image of small children’s faces smooched against and dragged up and down the front of a city bus. Trunch blathered on with a  mouthful of Frankenberries. Specks of pink flew from his obese lips. “What we need to do is write a story about somebody planting bombs in movie theaters playing hit movies like Top Gun or Stand By Me. Once we write the story we’ll really do it. When nobody’s in it of course. We’ll leave our manuscript outside the theater. Read this if you Know What’s Good for You, would be a good title. Right ?” Jason stopped nodding. Sadly, three years later, the one and only 200-page manuscript was also blown sky high in the Capital 8 blast that ended nothing but old-fashioned aspirations. This was a shame because it was the only half-decent piece of writing the pair had ever done together.
 

Advertisements