Ficlets

The old Mercedes in the bar parking lot.

The beer is a local one called, Purple Haze, and it really does taste purple.All I can see are the stars and the ocean, but its too dark to tell where one begins and the other starts.By now there are a few bottles lining the pier all humming in the strong costal wind, as if i have a small orchestra playing my lonley tune.Sitting up l look at the dock below me and realize that i’ve been laying directly in some bird shit.It doesnt bother me too much though, the view of the ocean from South Point is too beautiful to think about anything else.I just wish i had someone else here to share it with.As i begin walking back to the cottage i hear some drunk folk being rowdy on some upper level of the hotel i am passing by but this is the first sign of life i have heard all night.I have been walking directly on the double yellow, hoping i saw a car so i would have to move.On the way i see a beat up, dirty old mercedes in the bar lot and i stop to write “BLACKBEARD LIVES !” in the caked on dirt on the back with my finger.

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