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A New York Story ch 4"Hey kid, what's your name?" the boy with the black ponytail asked the minute Julian crossed the street and came over.
"Jules." He felt a lump in his throat that he couldn't get rid of. The gang of boys looked very big and scary with their sneering faces and dark makeup.
Black ponytail smiled. "I caught you checking us out, Jules. How old are you?"
"Thirteen." His eyes began to water from all the cigarette smoke and he tried his best not to shed a tear or cough.
"Thirteen? Nah, man, you must be older than that!"
"I'm not," Julian said. Then, out of politeness, he stuck his hand out. Ponytail smiled and shook his hand, impressed.
"The name's Jack. And here's my gang - Alan, Mike, and Chet." Jack's group of friends mumbled out their hello's. Julian squeaked one back. Then Jack suddenly pulled something out of his heavy coat pocket. "Cigarete?" he said, sliding the cancer stick up from the Lucky Strikes box with a black painted thumbnail.
"Um," Julian said. He blinked his eyes behind his
Sweet EscapeJohn had spilled some of his beer on his shirt as he stood up from the couch and watched his wife make a beeline for the door. "Cyn!" he yelled. "Don't you dare leave this house!"
"You have no control over me!" she shouted back to him. She sensed her husband coming after her from behind as she pulled the door open and stepped out into the fresh cool night.
John stumbled forward and caught a piece of her scarf.
Cynthia cried out and felt the scarf tighten around her neck once her husband gave it a quick tug. She felt her entire self tipping over and falling to the ground, but instead John had caught her in his arms and held on.
"You're not going anywhere," he spoke in a harsh whisper.
"Let me go!" Cynthia spat and began to squirm and wriggle in his arms and tried shoving him off. She had let out a few grunts and squeals and moans that were giving John a slight turn on. He quickly shook the sex fantasy away and tightened his grip. He dragged her back inside and released her after
Cynthia's Night Out"Beep, beep!" four-year-old Julian Lennon pulled in behind his father in the hallway. John Lennon turned around and smirked. "Playing Driver again?" he said. In his eyes, it was sorta cute to see his only son playing in a toy car he got from some relative on Cynthia's side last month on his birthday. Jules never got tired riding the ridiculous thing.
"Beep, beep," Julian insisted. He wanted John to move. His father was blocking the road!
John mumbled something under his breath and finally stepped aside to let the kid through. Julian smiled and started to "drive" away by moving his feet on a set of pedals.
"We really need to get rid of that bloody toy car of his," John said to Cynthia the minute he walked in the bedroom, knowing that his wife was in here to take a nap. Although, right now John found his wife standing in front of their full-length mirror wearing a smart looking silk blouse and dress pants. A fashionable scarf was thrown around her neck and her purse was slung over
Sorry, too"I should probably head back now," George spoke finally, scraping his chair back and standing up from the table with the rose still clutched in his hands.
"Right," John snorted, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "Go back to that whiny, bitch-wife of yours, McCartney... Three days from now you'll both have another fight again, I bet!"
"That isn't true," George whispered.
"No?" John raised his brows. "How much do you want to bet on it, son? Twenty? Twenty-five?" He began to slip his right hand through the pocket of his jacket and take his leather wallet out.
"I don't want to bet on anything, John," George scowled. "Look, I really have to go-"
"Then go," John cut off. "What are you waiting for? Get outta here! Sooner or later one of you bozos will just end up staying with me again, trying to make the other one jealous. It's like a fucking game you guys play or something. It's pathetic, really. I feel like a stage prop half the bloody time!"
George blushed a crimson red color almost
SorryPaul shared a seat with a young woman on the bus. Her six-year-old daughter was squished between them, licking something that was was pink and sticky off her fingers. Both of the ladies had strawberry blond hair and striking blue eyes. The woman turned to Paul and noticed the single red rose he was holding in his hands.
"For your wife?" she said, smiling.
Paul blinked and turned his head to look at her. "I'm sorry?" he was too busy thinking about George and their fight they had earlier to hear what the woman just asked him.
"Is that for your wife?" she repeated and pointed at the flower. Her daughter gazed up at Paul and reached to touch the rose.
"Pretty," she said.
"Um, no, I mean, yes. It is!" Paul flashed out a grin, hoping it would work. It did, and both the woman and little girl smiled back.
The bus they were riding had suddenly screeched to a stop and the driver pulled the chrome handle, making the folded doors push open. A few passengers got up from their seats and start
The Drive-in Dilemma pt 4It was finally getting dark and people in cars were buzzing with excitement. Paul had no choice but to make room on the blanket for Ginny and Rachel to sit. He stared at them both like they came from a different planet. Mike was laughing hysterically when the cartoon was over. It was Ginny who locked eyes with Paul and said, "It's not polite to stare."
"I'm- I wasn't," Paul said, his cheeks flaming. Amused, Ginny giggled and pinched his arm.
Paul hollered, "Oww!" and grabbed the spot where it hurt. Both Mike and Rachel glanced over to see what the matter was.
"You pinched me!" Paul cried, perplexed.
"And you're cute," Ginny said for an answer. She giggled some more and stuck her hand out to pinch him again, but Paul scrambled up to his feet just in time and backed away from the blanket.
"Are you all right, Paulie?" Mike asked with his eyes bugging out and mouth hanging wide open.
Paul rubbed his arm. "That really hurt," he pouted. Ginny laughed and he could see bits of silver in her te
Boyhood BoredomAunt Mimi was sitting in a lawnchair outside with a book in her hands, reading. Her pesky ten-year-old nephew was standing right behind her holding a water balloon high above his head.
"Drop that on me, John, and you won't live to see another day," the cold-blooded aunt said in a soft, but firm tone of voice.
John scowled and lowered the balloon down to his stomach. "How did you know I was even there?" he stepped around in front of her with his face all pinched up.
"I have eyes on the back of my head," Aunt Mimi answered. She didn't smile. She flipped a page in her book and kept reading.
"I'm bored. There's nothing to do!" John began tossing the water balloon back and forth in his hands.
"Go read something," Mimi said.
John snorted. That was something that he did not want to do. He took a good seven minutes filling up the balloon earlier, and now he wanted to throw it at somebody. Uncle George wasn't home and Aunt Mimi just gave him that threat about not living to see tomorrow or whate
Eternity"Where should we dig up the body?" Paul asked, holding the shovel with one hand. He wore a trash bag over his suit to make a poncho, but the rain came down hard and soaked right through his clothes underneath.
"Cut that out," George said for an answer, but he was smiling. His bangs were plastered to his forehead from rain water and he too wore a white trash bag over his gray tailored suit. Paul was the one who came up with the idea for them to wear the trash bags in the first place.
"Well?" Paul gestured with his new favorite toy. The shovel came from the back corner of the tool shed. He dragged it outside to the yard of the farmhouse.
"Just put that shovel down, will you?" George giggled. "I'm trying to have a moment with you!"
Paul, silently, dropped the rusty shovel and watched it fall straight into a mud puddle. He looked up and laughed when he saw mud splattered everywhere on George's face and his baggy poncho.
For a minute, George blinked and stood very still. Then he reached up
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