“Which one do you think I should get him?” Darryl asked his girlfriend.
Diane shrugged. “How should I know?” she asked. “I’ve only met your father that one time.”
“There are the ones with the floral patterns that say ‘Islander’ on them,” Darryl said, “or the one that says ‘Aloha’ on it. Do you think he’d like one of those?”
“They’re nice,” Diane said.
“Maybe he’d prefer one of the other ones with the straw weave on the front,” Darryl said.
“Darryl,” Diane said, “Whatever you decide, I think he’ll be happy just knowing that you were thinking about him.”
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Jan Wayne Fields.
Elaine came home from work exhausted. She walked into the kitchen, dropped her pocketbook on the table, and went to the fridge to grab a beer. Suddenly she froze. “Clyde,” she screamed, “where’s the goddam refrigerator?”
“I hauled that piece of crap out of here and dumped it in the ravine behind the house,” he called out from the living room.
“What on earth possessed you to do that?” Elaine, bewildered, asked.
“It wasn’t keeping my beer cold enough,” he complained.
“Why didn’t you just call the place we bought it?” she asked. “It was still under warranty, you idiot!”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
Lately things have really been getting me down and sometimes it’s almost too much for me to take. But I found a place at the top of the stairs where I can go and let all of my cares drift off into space as I watch the stars put on a show for free. It’s beautiful and peaceful as can be and nothing bothers me when I’m there. It’s like a paradise, one that is trouble proof. And if this world starts getting you down, too, won’t you join me? There’s room enough for two up on the roof.
Inspired by the photo from Roger Bultot and by the words of Carole King and Gerry Goffin, this post is for the Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
Having recently retired and with time on his hands, Clark decided to fulfill his life’s greatest ambition. With a head full of ideas, interesting and compelling characters, and intricate, twisty plot lines, he would write the great American novel.
Clark was old school. It wasn’t that he was a technophobe. He just liked the feel of using a manual typewriter. So he put aside his laptop and took out his old, antique Underwood, slipped a piece of paper on the roller, and started pounding away on the keyboard.
Before he finished the fourth page, though, Clark stopped typing. “Damn arthritis.”
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Jeff Arnold.
“I thought you were gonna call it the ‘Pink Cadillac Diner,’” Dwight said.
“Yeah, that was the plan,” Derek said. “I bought the dam car and all.
“So what happened?”
“Roger,” Derek said, “does whatever he wants to do no matter who he hurts.”
“But isn’t he your 50/50 partner in the diner?” Dwight asked.
“Supposedly,” Derek said, “and he loved the pink Cadillac idea, but he wanted to name the diner ‘Rock-n-Rogers,’ so he had the Caddy painted, hoisted it to the top of the tall sign post, and told me if I don’t like it, I can take it down.”
I’m a few days late for the Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, but here it is. Photo credit: J Hardy Carroll.