Neon…a short story.

“I’d like to speak to the manager, please,” she said, politely.

“Why?” he asked.

“Are you the manager?”

“No.”

“Then obviously,  you are not the person I …”

“I’ll get him.  Stay here.”

“Why would I go away?”

“How should I know?”

A tall, lanky, man came out from a back room.

“How can I help you?” he asked, smiling.

“Your sign is a lie and you need to take it down.”

“It’s not a lie, and I paid a fortune for it.  I’m not taking it down.”

“There are a billion things that are impossible.  Let me see you fly.”

“Fly?”

“Without a plane or hang glider.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you saying that it’s impossible for humans to fly without a plane, or device.”

“Maybe.”

“Count backward from a million in twenty seconds.  Start….NOW,” she said, looking at the timer on her phone.

He stared at her.”

“Can’t do that either, can you,” she said.  “How about this one:  get pregnant, then try and get an abortion in Texas.”

“Okay, so everything isn’t possible.  What’s your point?”

“My point IS, that there are MORE things that are impossible for us to DO, than there are things we can do.  Let me see you stop war, or hatred. How about stopping disease, or aging, or death.  How about making the world a place filled with friendship, and equality, a paradise for animals.  Can you stop all violence on earth.  Turn people into gardeners for the earth.  Bring back our ancestors, so we can put them on trial for crimes against humanity.”

“What do you want from me?” asked the manager, tiredly.

“I want you to stop telling lies and take down the sign.”

“No.  Not a chance.”

“Have it your way,” she said, waking toward the door.

“What do you think she meant by that, boss?”

“No idea.”

Once outside, she cackled with glee, and released her flying monkeys.

And that, my dear friends, was the end of the sign that told a lie. Oh, one more thing.  The manager, started walking with a limp that very night, but surely that can’t have anything to do with him refusing to take down the sign, right?”

Neon…How they met…

“Did you make that sign?” he asked, starting at the words, as they stood in the street staring at the neon.

“Yes,” she said. “I did.”

“I like it.”

“Thank you.  Without art, the world would be a living hell.”

“The world is a living hell,” he said, turning toward her.

“Yes, but art makes hell bearable.”

He nodded.

“Do you believe everyone is an artist?”

“No.  Do you?” he asked.

“I think everyone is creative.  Some people are naturally creative, talent oozing from every pore.  Others can become more creative, with practice.  Some refuse to accept their creativity, but for the majority of people their creativity is put to sleep by the establishment.  Creativity is not rewarded, but frowned upon.  Those who are able to over come their conditioning, become, while those who believed they have no creativity, no longer recognize it.  But creativity is in the way people dress, decorate their homes, walk, etc. You can’t keep creativity down, at least not all the way.  Not without doing a lot of damage.”

“That’s really dark,” he said, taking a step away from her.

“Maybe.  But it’s still true.”

“So you believe everyone has creativity deep inside of them?”

“I think creativity is what we are.  The establishment thinks creativity, and thinking for one’s self, is dangerous to the point where they do everything possible to take it out of children, so they are more easily controlled.  Creative people are difficult to control, that’s why art, as a way of life, is usually frowned upon by parents and others.  Being an artist can be a tough way to make a living. The men in power hate artists, unless they’re having their picture taken with one of the famous few, during an election year.”

“You should wear black and carry a sign that says, END OF DAYS,” he muttered.

“I tried it, but it’s boring and no one really reads signs anymore.  That’s why I did this one in neon.  People might not read, but they do like lights.”

“That’s true.”

“I know.  That’s why I said it,” she snickered.  “What’s your creative thing?  I mean you dress…kind of cool.”

“Do you want to talk about it over coffee?”

“Sure,” she said.  “Why not.”

“Come on, let’s go to Cup of Delight.”

 

Photo:  Viktoria Alipatova
Pexels

 

 

While so many in the world are trying to kill each other…I’m sending peaceful vibes your way.

Image

Photo:  Samuel Regan-Asante
Unsplash

Neon and How they Met…

“I thought this was a deli,” she said, standing in front of the counter.

“It is.  What would you like?” he asked.

“What about the soul thing?”

“What about it?”

“You want to hold my soul?”

“Uh, how would I do that?” he asked, frowning.  “We aren’t even sure there is such a thing and besides, even if souls existed, they’d be invisible, or misty, and no one could hold one.”

“So what does the sign mean?”

“It means our food is so good, you’ll feel it in your soul and never forget it.”

She laughed.  “Wow, that’s a lot of pressure to put on a lunch dish.”

“We can handle it,” he said, smiling.  “So you’re a virgin?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re first time here,”  he said.

“Oh, yes.  First time here.”

“Then you have to write your name and number, or email, on one of those tags,” he said pointing to a small table, “and put it in the jar.   You might win a hundred dollars, or a free meal.  This is the only chance you’ll have to add your name.  Once you leave, when you return, you will no longer be a virgin.   And before you ask, yes men are virgins too.  Anyone who is here for the first time, qualifies for the prizes.”

“I’m a vegetarian.  What do you suggest?”

He thought for a moment and said.  “Go sit down.  I gotcha.”

Twenty minutes later he walked over and placed five dishes of delicious looking food in front of her.

“This one’s on me,” he said.  “Don’t worry about the cost, just enjoy the food.  I think we’re going to go out, then get married, have one kid, a dog, two cats and a pet rat. But hey, maybe that’s just my dream.  Eat up.”

She watched him walk away and started laughing, after which she tried hard not to make too many groaning sounds as she ate.

“OMG,” she said.  “THAT WAS OUTSTANDING.”

“Glad you liked it,” he said, smiling.  “How about the date?”

“I like rats,” she said. “Is this how you get to hold my soul?  By making me fall in love with you?”

“It happens in all different ways, but this is one of them.  Yes.”

“I’m crazy about neon.”

“Dancing?  Friday night?”

“Sure,” she said.

“Meet me here at seven?”

“Okay.”

“You probably want another slice of rye bread, am I right?”

She held out her hand, he gave her the bread, and waved as she left.

 

Photo:  Emre Can Acer
Pexels

 

Sunrise…neon…words.

life is like
sunrise
in Chicago
you know the sun is there
but you can’t
see
or touch it
the sun
a huge
flaming star
can’t seem to burn it’s way
through the clouds
and if you listen carefully
you can hear the clouds
laughing as they spread
their darkness over the land
and life
by the way
is nothing more than an
IDEA
it’s not something
you can hold in your hand
or point to
life is ethereal
it’s something
we collectively
agree exists
so life is what we call
whatever this is
we’re doing
because humans
hate to admit
they don’t have
a clue
as to what’s
really going on

 

Picture:  Pixabay

Neon…and some words…

 

the moon is in space
238,900 miles from the earth
you can pretty much
reach all you want
but this
is what you might call
an unattainable
goal
unless you’e an astronaut
which the majority of us
are NOT
and we still aren’t even sure
they really went there
doing yoga
eating kale
and riding your bike
12 hours a day
will not help you
reach the moon
so you might want
to think about setting
more realistic goals
in your life
ones you actually
might be able
to reach

 

 

Photo:  Designecologist
Pexels

Valentine’s Day is on it’s way…

Plan ahead
show the one you love
just how much
he or she
means to you
and have fun

 

 

Photo:  Shaira dela Peña
Unsplash

Love…and neon…

most people
think they know
what LOVE means
but the definition
is different for
everyone
LOVE
is a loaded word
it comes with
a lot of
expectations
emotions
catches
and baggage
we can LOVE
a lot of things
there are  different
degrees of LOVE
some people fear it
others spend their
lives looking for it
now and then
someone finds it
one can have it
lose it
or have it taken away
songs
books
films
are all about LOVE
LOVE can be easy
or complicated
it can be exciting
and it can disappear
it’s a weird thing
driven by our brains
usually
without our consent
but it is what it is
in all it’s flavors
we love those we love
in ways that are different
for each one
we love our cats
our books
our pizza
our gardens
our kids
our tea
we can love everything
because when it comes to
LOVE
ONCE SIZE FITS ALL

Neon…Elmer’s…a short story about glue.

“Excuse me, but where’s the glue?”

“Glue?” asked the woman behind the counter.  “What glue?”

“Elmer’s glue.”

“We don’t sell glue here.”

“You’re kidding,” he said.  “This is ELMER’S.  You have to sell glue.”

“Look around.  This is a tattoo parlor.  Not a glue store.”

“I thought it was an Elmer’s Glue outlet,” he said, seeing people in chairs, getting various designs put on their bodies. “Okay,” he admitted. “You’re right, it doesn’t look like a glue store.”

“Do you want a tattoo?  I can help you with that.”

“What would I get?”

“No idea.  We have tons of art you can look at, or you can draw something yourself.”

“Any suggestions?” he asked.

“What do you like?” she asked.

He thought for a moment, then said, “Ice cream.  I like ice cream.”

She nodded and pulled up a picture of a dripping ice ream cone.  “I really like this one,” she said.  “The drips run down your arm, and you can choose any ice cream you like, chocolate, strawberry, anything at all.”

“Okay.  Strawberry, please.”

“I think Denise is almost finished with her customer.  She has an hour open before the next one.  Maybe she’ll be willing to take you.”

“Thanks.”

And that’s how a guy shopping for glue ended up with a tattoo of strawberry ice cream cone dripping down his right arm.  But wait…there’s more.  When he left, he saw a store on the other side of the street that said, WE SELL GLUE.  So all in all, it’s wasn’t such a bad way to start his week.

 

 

Photo:  Tim Mossholder

 

Neon…The Club…a short story.

“Excuse me,” said the bartender.  “You’re in the wrong place.”

The man looked around, took off his sunglasses and put them on the bar. “Look, it’s late, I’m here to start any trouble.  Can you get me something to drink?  I’m meeting a client here.”

“I’ll look in the back, but I don’t think I have anything for you.”

“Give it your best shot,” said the man, rubbing his eyes.

The bartender walked away and a woman slid onto the stool.  “Mr. Cass?”

He nodded.

“Thank you for meeting me here.  I hope you’re not too uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Can you help me?”

“I can try, but I can’t promise anything.”

She nodded and slid an envelope toward him.  “The photo is in there, along with the cash and something that belonged to him.”

The envelope disappeared into his coat pocket, just as the bartender returned.

“I’m sorry.  I don’t have anything.”

“Then give me a martini, dry.”

“You sure?”

“Why are you so mean?” asked the woman.  “They’re just like everyone else.”

“Using the word they, in that way, automatically means you think THEY are different,” said the bartender.  “Look, I just work here.  There plenty of Vamp bars around. This happens to be for the hearts still beating.  I don’t have blood cocktails in the fridge.  I’m sorry, but the sign says it all.  Coming here is like going to a vegan deli and asking for meat.”

“Sorry, kid,” said the man, throwing a fifty on the bar.  “You’re right.  But she was afraid to meet anywhere else.  I’m sure you can understand that.”

The bartender nodded.  “There’s a place down the block called ALL OF US.  It’s new and serves everyone.  You might want to try meting there next time.”

“She doesn’t want to meet where vampires are drinking.”

“I get it, but this is a place for living people only.  They aren’t afraid to come here, because it’s vampire free.  Shouldn’t they have a place where they feel safe?”

The man stood up, turned to the woman, and said, “I’ll be in touch.”

She watched him walk away, then drank his untouched martini.

 

Photo:  Maksim Goncharenok
Pexels