Three Word Wednesday - November 22, 2006
"Swing down, sweet chariot stop and, let me ride"
Three Word Wednesday - November 22, 2006
Sir Bone of Bama has Three Word Wednesdays at his blog. The project is that he picks three words, then people write a bit utilizing those three words. The three words this week were smoke, first, and rolling. Below you will find my attempt.
Quentin hadn't been back to the ol' neighborhood since checking out of the county lock up. First thing he had to do was make everything right with Big Tony. That meant a lot of work, even a bit of groveling. That was well and good, long as he didn't have to smoke some poor bastard.
The time was now upon him to check in on Rita. He'd made damn sure she stayed away while he was on his up north trip. She didn't need to see him like that. Like a caged animal. That time was like a parallel universe, never to be spoken of again.
Rolling down 'Dead Soul Ave' he thought back to what started all the trouble. It all began when Uncle Jimmy refused to make the rent. He stood up to the crooked muscle that ran the streets, collectin' money from hard workin' folk. Q was no Bat Masterson, but he held his own when the time came. That was his ruin, that was his downfall.
Oh this wasn't his first offense, but the muscle's backers had some friends that earned their keep parked behind a gavel. All those petty larceny busts from his rabid childhood reared their ugly heads, and added time away from his girl. Now he's back. What happens next, well let's just hope Q doesn't lose his head. If that happens, a whole world of hurt will befall those that put him away.
Until next time:
"English is a brawling, promiscuous drunkard of a language made up of mispronounced and stolen words from other languages, and that’s what makes it such a glory to speak." - Cory Doctorow
Three Word Wednesday - November 22, 2006
Sir Bone of Bama has Three Word Wednesdays at his blog. The project is that he picks three words, then people write a bit utilizing those three words. The three words this week were smoke, first, and rolling. Below you will find my attempt.
Quentin hadn't been back to the ol' neighborhood since checking out of the county lock up. First thing he had to do was make everything right with Big Tony. That meant a lot of work, even a bit of groveling. That was well and good, long as he didn't have to smoke some poor bastard.
The time was now upon him to check in on Rita. He'd made damn sure she stayed away while he was on his up north trip. She didn't need to see him like that. Like a caged animal. That time was like a parallel universe, never to be spoken of again.
Rolling down 'Dead Soul Ave' he thought back to what started all the trouble. It all began when Uncle Jimmy refused to make the rent. He stood up to the crooked muscle that ran the streets, collectin' money from hard workin' folk. Q was no Bat Masterson, but he held his own when the time came. That was his ruin, that was his downfall.
Oh this wasn't his first offense, but the muscle's backers had some friends that earned their keep parked behind a gavel. All those petty larceny busts from his rabid childhood reared their ugly heads, and added time away from his girl. Now he's back. What happens next, well let's just hope Q doesn't lose his head. If that happens, a whole world of hurt will befall those that put him away.
Until next time:
"English is a brawling, promiscuous drunkard of a language made up of mispronounced and stolen words from other languages, and that’s what makes it such a glory to speak." - Cory Doctorow
posted by The Big Man | 11/24/2006 12:27:00 AM
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