D-L's Free Write
Damn Maria.
Peter had been so happy sitting in the café. He'd ridden his motorcycle to the café inside the supermarket.
Lots of women would come in for coffee. Accompanying wives at the UN and their alphabet agencies. Not able to work, they bonded over coffee.
He didn't miss working. Retirement was the best job ever.
He liked how those women looked at him. Gray-haired older men could be considered sexy, not like older gray.haired women, especially if they'd gone to fat.
He'd been lucky that he wasn't wrinkled - pure genes from both parents.
Now Marie wanted him to pick up some groceries. Just enough that it would spoil his looks as he zoomed through the village on his scooter.
Maybe he would have another coffee.
He ran his hand through his wavy gray hair. No bald spot. No receding hairline.
He wouldn't want to be young again with all those responsibilities - work, mortgage, kids. Now he reveled in these golden years.
A woman smiled at him. He couldn't follow up: he needed to buy broccoli, cream and just enough other stuff to blow the image he wanted to have of himself.
Visit D-L.'s website https://dlnelsonwriter.com, is the author of 15 fiction and three non fiction books. Her 300 Unsung Women, bios of women who battled gender limitations, can be purchased at https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/300-unsung-women-d-l-nelson/1147305797?ean=9798990385504
Rick's Free Write
He fit the stereotype that only fat men ride motorcycles. Maybe you had to be heavy to handle a ‘hog.’ Built like a fireplug, low center of gravity. White hair in a former military style crew cut. Mustache and goatee, also bleached, also closely cropped. White short-sleeve shirt, not a polo. Cargo shorts, khaki, with lots of pockets and zippers, the kind I like but won’t stay up because I put too many things in the pockets. And an all-black moto helmet – ‘brain bucket’ – no designs, no logo, no nonsense.
After finishing his morning coffee (black, no cream, no sugar, definitely not espresso) at Martel, on the terrace overlooking the lake, he paid (no tip), grabbed the helmet in his beefy paw and headed down the escalator.
He loved the freedom of the moto, an American Harley, and took a perverse joy in breaking laws, weaving in and out of traffic and bicycle lanes, edging in front of cars waiting at red lights, then blasting away as the light changed to yellow.
When he got to his office building, he parked in the reserved spot, took the private elevator to his floor, showered, and put on fresh clothes. And robe.
“Bonjour, Judge,” greeted his assistant.
Rick Adams is an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices.com, a weekly newsletter reporting the top stories about the airline industry. He is the author of The Robot in the Simulator. AI in Aviation Training.
Julia's Free Write
It was a so-so day, finally a bit cooler and calmer.
They met for tea and coffee to catch up on themselves and the world.
It was much easier to discuss their lives than world events, even if politically they were of the same mind.
Weather was gray – a welcome change – but that gray was nowhere as elegant as the full head of gray hair that walked past them.
This chap was probably in his late 60s, dressed appropriately for the season in Bermudas and a short-sleeved shirt. On the tallish side and although nothing about him screamed money, he had that look: not of entitlement, but of self-assurance. Gray hair thick enough to be the envy of many around him.
Off he went, down the escalator and out of their lives.
Little did they know that he would be in the evening news for having robbed a bank`
Visit Julia's blog. She has written and taken photos and loves syncing up with friends. Her blog can be found: https://viewsfromeverywhere.blogspot.com/
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment