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Archive for October, 2014

Doris is afraid of pigeons. The rodent birds of New York City cause the bleached blonde hair of the seemingly fearless black woman to stand on end. How she works as a foot messenger in Manhattan is anyone’s guess; but she somehow manages to steer clear of them, often running to opposite sides of the street to avoid flocks that feed on crumbs scattered by lonely New Yorkers who adore these winged carriers.

“My mother made me watch that movie ‘The Birds’ when I was little. People don’t know that birds can fuck you up like that,” Doris explained one afternoon as we walked up Eighth Avenue on our way to Starbucks where I first introduced Doris to her first “expensive as hell” cup of frozen macchiato. “Let’s walk on this side. I hate those damned things.”

I giggled and tried to explain to Doris that the movie was mere fiction, but the glimmer of Doris’s door-knocker earrings caught my eye as a crumb may move the emotions of a hungry bird, and I followed her as if we were wild geese flying in V formation to our favorite resting place on Friday afternoons.

It seemed Doris was being melodramatic about the birds—she is after all gay friendly. She often uses those gay catch phrases like “honey child” to address me. I never told her I was gay, but I let her assume I’m a queen, even though I never once referred to her as “sista” nor have I told her those earrings are so ’80’s.

I was walking down that same stretch of Eighth Avenue early one morning and noticed that bleached blonde hair several blocks in front of me, even though it was still dark outside. I knew I could catch up with my friend; the crosswalk light had changed and Doris came to a halt alongside a group of other pedestrians. I noticed Doris’s hands flying way up in the air—a sign I know very well—Doris was either cussing someone out, or something had rattled her nerves.

It was then I noticed three pigeons flying above the heads of those waiting for the light to change. “Get the fuck away from me,” Doris screamed. A woman in business attire attempted to move away from Doris, assuming she may be mad, but I soon caught up to the crowd and put my arms around my friend and laughed. “They are not going to hurt you,” I reassured. “Oh, it’s you. Thank God!” she said.

I shared the story with the dispatcher at work. A group of messengers awaiting daily manifests overheard the tale. Most were not surprised at the story I had shared.
Later that afternoon, Doris injured her back on the job. While walking into a building with double glass doors, her backpack got hooked on the first door she had walked through, pulling her back and onto a hard marble floor. I ran into Doris on her way home that day. She explained what had happened. I couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t a pigeon that had grabbed onto that backpack as the light-skinned blonde simply tried to do her job in a town that is so overrun by those damned birds.

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On chilly Halloweens long before Twitter sucked the lifeblood from on-line literature, groups of vampire-like writers gathered at the craigslist writer’s forum to toast the art of the craft and hang out and jack o lantern off to the art of the handwritten word and bob for compliments.

Goblins of the pre-selfee era gathered in Google fashion to write short stories in a collective theme. They hung work in orgy-like unison within the forum, usually on October 31st.

Cash was awarded to newly formed Anne Rices, time went by, and by 2014, what could easily mount atop a horse, were mounds of timeless tales, inspired by themes of a holiday celebrated by those of nearly all religious and cultural upbringings.

A celebrity judge, a former employee of Barbara Walters, judged the submissions.

Phuong Nuygen will be invited back again this year to oversee the stories that may one day appear on Broadway as a series of one act plays with music scored by Elton John.

Submissions must be based on scary, true- life events that are enhanced by fiction but end in simple, scary truth.

Post on the craigslist writer’s board; the original Twitter of wasting time on-line, a site that was around before angie tried to steal craig’s soul, and a great place for inspiring writers to get the hell shocked out of them when they realize their work was actually read.

Post on Halloween under the heading “Scary Halloween”

No cash will be awarded this year, but all work will be to judged by one who is well-studied in the craft– Phuong Nuygen.

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