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I am trying to make the transition from being a story teller to a story writer; it isn’t as easy as it may sound. Yesterday I put more than two thousand words to virtual paper as I wrote my little tale of boys night out. That is probably an hour’s worth of work for a half-ass typist, but it was just over four hours work for me, a one-fingered pecker. I also try to edit as I go. I trashed my outline and basically began all over except for what I posted on this blog Wednesday. I was typing the story as I thought of it; not too easy for a one-track mind but I was never good with outlines. Past what I wrote on the 25th, most of the remainder is dialogue. All I need now is a decent finish which I already have on my mind, and a rousing beginning to get the reader interested. I still have to set up the bar fight, but that should be fairly easy. I will sit on it for a few days and go over it again, trying to iron out the worst wrinkles. Sooner or later I will say enough and post what I consider as a finished story, although I will never be completely happy with it. Even if no one else cares for it; I will be as proud of it as if I had laid a golden egg called the Pulitzer.
Nohow, here is a bit of the dialogue; it begins with Slim speaking:
“How do you know it was the old woman instead of one of the girls?”
“Hells bells! I know because I found her ass when I went looking for my wallet! Jeez!”
“You found her ass?” I used my most incredulous tone of voice.
“Aw shit, Slim.” His tone was pleading. “The old girl was wearing one of those fake rubber asses; I felt it when I was dancing with her back in the bar.”
Zeke was becoming a bit calmer and asked for another smoke. My head was throbbing in every direction and the body aches were becoming almost unbearable, but I couldn’t quit on the man; inquisition is good for the soul and I wanted his soul laying bare on the seat between us.
He gave me a sideways look as I handed him the cigarette.
“Okay; when I went back after my billfold, I lit my lighter and saw her ass laying on the floor beside the bed.”
Before I could mull that over and ask another question he blurted “She had rubber tits, too.”
If not for the pain wracking my poor body, I would surely have burst out with laughter; his admission was just too freaking sweet.
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I am not trying to be sexist nor am I putting down little old ladies in the story. If there was not some truth to the tale, I probably would not tell it; many things are what they are. I once owned a black truck with chrome wheels. During my electrician and tramping years my nickname was “Slim”. I used to work on powerhouse construction. I once saw a bar similar to the one I described. In a bar, I indeed saw and old woman much like the one I invented and she indeed took a friend of mine to her room for a romp; he was 33 years old and she was in her late 60′s … at least. I lived in many boarding houses. I once did have the dry heaves so bad that I passed out.
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Mark, Tammy, and Mike … Peace and Happiness to bless your reunion.
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Jola … I hope you make it back to Warsaw and the family safe and sound.
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Have a memorable Holiday weekend, everyone.
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