0
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Waiting

posted August 30, 2006 - 10:31am
Waiting

She sat in her car, waiting for her guy to return. Where was he. She got out, and Buck shuffled over, his boots scraping the dirt road. Shoulders hunched. “What’s up with you, puffy?” he said, chuckling. Buck was not her guy.

What a loser. He could be something, if he got his act straight. Come on, Buck, buck up, shoulders back, chest out, like this, she thought, and she found herself following her own advice.

“Come on, Buck. We’ve waited around long enough.” Soon, they would be driving back to town. Above them, a faint red light glowed, flickered, then disappeared forever.


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Virtual kids, children.

Maybe I can write an article about the virtual life of a virtual Page. As a youngster, before 'nam a friend was a Page. But my Page story is not conventional. My Page was not a usual Page. Upon my Page, there were 787 words of text; and they were heavy, heavy words. Many of the words were words like ponderous, massive, immoveable, Deep, great, grandiose, amplification, exaggeration, somber, timber, basso profundo, and profound. No levity at all about or upon this Page. This is where we Cara Gundersen to hitch hike with us. For now, I'll leave this Page and go to another.

But what about the light? The red faint flickering light, fading

fading, gone. Forever? As a pretend writer, I also want to pursue that light. I can virtually guarantee the virtual kids of yours will be safe. Well virtually safe. I am not really in anyway qualified to do a Mark Foley post -- except maybe we could compose a non-lurid, non sexual, adult to page conversation that would ring true. (One of my good friends was a Page many years ago, before 'nam.) He might have some insight into the Page world worth sharing. "The light. Focus on the light. It flickers. Your eyes are getting virtually heavy, you are virtually relaxed. There. . . there. . . now tell me about the light you saw . . ."

Mark Foley? Oh, no!

Keep him away from my virtual children!

Antonia Dwells

Okay. Julie's nickname is Puffy. I like Julie better.

“Come on, Buck. We’ve waited around long enough.” One of the girls in Buck's Hudson called. Soon, they would be driving back to town. Above them, a faint red light glowed, flickered, then disappeared forever. I just wondered about the red light. And if gone forever, where it went. Liars and fiction. Some great truths are best outlined with fiction, some would call lies. Lies? How about Mark Foley having Virtual Sex between Votes. Maybe those were virtual votes. With virtual meaning. Is this like Virtual Rape, or Virtual Murder. (whoM amongst us can know? like a Virtual RBS wedding? Can people distinguish between virtual and real, like between fact and fictional exploits. I'm not defending Foley. BUt I am hoping the virtual facts come out. Virtually. Maybe these are virtual lies? Not real lies. Virtual fiction. "Sit back, relax. Get comfortable. Hmmm? What's bothering you? Tell me if . . . about the red lights. Do you think them significant? Are you are having problems with red lights? Any ideas? Why red. . . Why not green or yellow?. . .I think if you discuss this we can get to the bottom of this problem. You aren't really a liar since you write, right? Lets get this out. . ."

That's a very ponderable question.

I rarely trust a writer's intent on her/his fiction. Fiction is a string of well-arranged lies. Good fiction, anyway. Therefore, fiction writer = liar. Now, are you gonna trust a liar to delineate her lies?

Antonia Dwells

Com' on, what did you have going with the with the red light?

I mean forevedr with the twinkling red light. Like poof? Can we go back to the curb now? Note, not gutter, Curb, paved and guttered, concrete modern, even without the street ligth 800 ft away. I like the curb what were you gonna do with that vanished red lighjt? why bring it in. Even I don't know what happened to it. Just gone forever. . .

Dun-dun-DUNNNN!!!

Antonia Dwells

Antonia Dwells

Dammit. I know where her guy went.

The car was now empty but Jim's spot in the driver's seat was still warm. Maybe Buck knew where Jim went? "Buck, have you seen my guy?" "He's gone." Buck shook his head; looked at herlevelly for a moment, met her eyes. Then dropped his gaze. He shuffled some gravel with his tenneys. When he looked up again, he said, "Jim said the car's yours. The signed title is in the glovebox. He wanted you to have it. He won't be coming back. You won't be seeing him again." That soaked in, slowly. "Buck. Seriously. Where did he go?" Buck looked at me again. "They took him. They have him now. He wanted to go. I'm sorry, Julie." "What do you mean?" Julie asked, angry panic stealing into her voice. "What do you mean, Buck? Gone where? How?" Buck had her attention. He pointed up. Up toward where the red light had flickered and disappeared, forever. Forever. "No." Julie shook her head. "No. . . ." It became darker.

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