This week’s prompts are at the bottom.
Practice makes perfect. I have been challenged to rewrite and rework previous stuff. I added some to this old piece but didn’t change it too much.
I found myself sitting in a county office speaking with a young clerk about the house and property I had recently inherited from my Uncle Felix. I was interested in doing something for the community.
“So, it’s not protected, registered, land-marked, or otherwise notable in any way?” I asked.
The representative from the county planning department pushed her glasses up on her nose, “No sir, it’s not. Some of the kids around here refer to it as ‘the haunted house’ and dare each other to approach on Halloween. Some of the older kids will drive up there on Friday nights, after a school dance and park. But, it’s really not safe. It should have been red-tagged years ago.”
“Why wasn’t it then? Miss, I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”
“McKenzie, Diane McKenzie.” She handed me another one of her business cards.
“Why wasn’t it then Miss McKenzie?”
“I’m not sure sir.”
“Can I get permits to knock it all down then?”
“Of course, without a problem.”
“What does this county need Miss McKenzie?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I want to know what you think this county needs Miss McKenzie.” I repeated. “I have this place and I want to know what to do with it. What is this county lacking? Do we need a library? A golf course or an airport? Maybe a factory outlet strip mall, a skate park? A camp ground? What do we need?”
“Honestly sir, it’s too far out of town to make an effective site for a library. Golf is a stupid game and an airport would require a bureaucracy bigger than we could support. I think we need a road house.”
It was my turn now, “I beg your pardon?”
“You know, a Honkey-Tonk, a clapboard or shingled building with a long bar and a stage for loud country music, a Mecca for loose women, and rough men, preferably with a dimly lit gravel parking lot. The kind of a parking lot where a girl can throw up next to her truck before she weaves home drunk, in the early hours of the morning.”
“Really?” I asked; eyes wide.
“No, not really,” she smiled, “I was just kidding.”
“Do you honestly think golf is stupid?”
“Of course I do,” she fidgeted a bit and sat taller in her desk chair, “they give you a whole bag full of clubs and don’t let you play any defense.” She stared at me, daring me to disagree.
This week’s prompts are:
- A guy named Harv
- el mar
Go ahead and dive in, set your imagination free!
Ready, Set, Go – you have 25 minutes, but if that is not possible, take as long as you need and, have fun!