February 15, 2012
The Margarita Philosophy [PDF]
This is a novella I abandoned a few months ago. It’s based on a dream I had that seemed like a really fantastic idea the next morning. After a few weeks I realized, like many stories I’ve read based on the dreams of writers, it just drifts along in a fittingly dreamlike state, not really going anywhere.
Also, I wasn’t really keen on how the central male character is the object of fascination for several female characters—it felt a bit too “Mary Sue” for my tastes.
So here it is as a short story, left on your doorstep, swaddled in a digital blanket (undoubtedly riddled with typos).
June 8, 2010
» At the end of the bar sat trouble in silk stockings. The tight red dress left little to the imagination. Nor did his three day old stubble.
» I watch her drink most of my coffee unsure how to mention she picked up the wrong cup. And what she needs to do to counteract the poison.
» Hidden by shadows a shade darker than his suit, he regretted what he had to do. But the die had been cast when she took the last cruller.
» Shovel still in one hand, he placed the other on the crying boy’s shoulder. “In the sping, we can dig up the puppy’s bones. Neat, huh?”
Mr. Dapper’s Tweets of Wisdom.
May 17, 2010
In front of her on the boardroom table, she spread out an array of small personal items as a cat might do with urine to mark its territory. Sunglasses. Phone. Lozenges. Water bottle. 3 pens. 2 notebooks. He half-expected her to produce a framed photo of her kids from her purse.
Once the meeting commenced, she gingerly approached topics but would then silently draw back—like a cat smelling danger on a new sofa. He kept his eyes down and silently chewed his pencil. Occasionally he’d raise hackles by lifting his head to bark his opinions at the room.
When they left the meeting, his muzzle was covered in scratches but he possessed the bone she had turned-up her proud, finicky nose at.
February 26, 2010
Though he was a high-ranking member of a white supremacist gang, he wasn’t convinced in the supremacy of his fair-skinned race. A nigress in his science class was smarter than any of them; the strongest kid in PE was Asian. The weakest, dumbest person he knew was himself.
One of his gang’s pamphlets taught him about genetics and diluting racial bloodlines. This lead him to a conclusion which startled him.
If his offspring were to have any hope of success in life, he’d need to bolster his frail genetic code with a set of superior chromosomes. So he asked the intelligent black girl to the prom.
After an incident in the parking lot, witnessed by no one, he never awoke from the coma.
Character studies, 140 characters at a time, Monday-Friday at Mr. Dapper’s Twitter.
February 19, 2010
Asleep, buffeted by the twin silver waves of the subway tracks, her head bobs on her uniform’s blue shoulders like a buoy on the dark sea. It’s almost seven bells and evening, judging by the sky’s hue whenever the train breaches the surface.
She’s slept through her watch again.
It’s not a cause for panic. She’s set herself a drift in a landlocked city in order to sleep. This is her third day sleeping on the subway. Twice a day she’s watched human tides roll in and out of the car, swirling like frothing eddies around a beached whale. Around her.
A thought washes upon her: When the whole world is an ocean, there’s no going AWOL from yourself.
February 17, 2010
From its vantage high up in the cold winter sky, the church bell tower looked down and saw the young couple fighting on the icy sidewalk.
The girl envisioned finding an apartment together within a year but he seemed content to live in his parents’ basement playing video games. Unwilling to support a woman slowly committing suicide one cigarette at a time, he wanted her to quit smoking and find a job.
Their bickering voices flew up into the air and got trapped, beside the pigeons, in the rafters of the bell tower. At noon the bells rang and sprinkled their worries back down upon them like broken snowflakes.
The bell tower thought each one was beautiful.
February 8, 2010
He drank constantly. Liquids flowed through him like a river snaking through the humid body of a dense tropical rainforest.
He drank milk.
He drank water.
He drank beer and wine and pomegranate juice.
For lunch he drank yogurt and he’d liquefy his evening meals. He even went so far as to buy a small, portable blender which he brought to restaurants and turned cheeseburgers and samosas into smoothies. After years of not eating solid foods, he had his teeth removed by a dentist in Mexico.
While convalescing at a resort, he washed down several crushed codeine pills with tap water and died from the consequential blood infection.
Visit Mr. Dapper’s Twitter for stories told 140 characters per day.