This week’s prompts are at the bottom. I wrote the story below for practice. Practice makes perfect. Let me know what you think.
It was nigh on noon that Sunday and a thin black man, with a black hat, and a black suit leaned a folding chair up against the hot, white stucco wall of Mr. Lieberson’s Conoco station on U.S. Route 425. He sat right next to a old Coca Cola machine that sold dime bottles of Coke. At his feet sat a ceramic coffee mug with the handle broken off and a chip on the rim. Next to that was a clear bottle ‘bout half full of brown whisky. Man’s name was Ricky J. Parker and nobody knew what the J stood for. He’d lived in these parts just about as long as folks could remember. My daddy used to tell me stories about Ricky Parker from when he was a boy.
Old Ricky Parker glanced at the Coke machine, against which he had leaned his new, hollow-bodied guitar. He pulled off his black fedora and wiped his hand across his brow as he looked up at the sun; squinting through dark, dark glasses. He waited, waited for Sonny and Ray.
After a while he nudged his open guitar case with the toe of his Italian shoe and decided he ought not to wait any longer. He, Sonny and Ray had a deal with Mr. Lieberson. Mr. Lieberson would let them play in front of his gas station for ten percent of the take; they could play all day, every day if they wanted. Some days Lieberson would get a dollar, some days he could get as much as fifty dollars. Ricky, Sonny and Ray would split the rest.
That morning, Ricky picked up his guitar and began to play softly. After a extended intro, he started to sing.
“Boom, boom, boom, boom.”
This week’s prompts are:
- need to see an ID
- Some of them, with work and polish, can regain their former shine
- when your eyes are closed
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!