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Brad Rose's Blog – December 2010 Archive (5)

Money to be Made in Hell

Our dreaming dog is barking, just a little low-squeak bark, again and again, like a mouse playfully pawed by a mountain lion. My broker says there’s money to be made in hell. I’m reading your mind, as if it were a bar code. You think, I want to be data, just data, in the pretty now. With eyes empty as smashed-in windows, you’re a burning house, live ammunition stored in every room. The flames speak to me: Find a grave, they say, or dig one,… Continue

Added by Brad Rose on December 29, 2010 at 11:00pm — 5 Comments

No Mail on New Year’s Eve

Derek never read his mail. He willfully refused to open any of it. Consequently, it piled up in the bedroom, the hallway, the living room-- everywhere. Magazines, bills, threats from creditors, promotional give-aways, envelopes announcing contests he’d won, but never bothered to open—all stacked into teetering towers, like a sprawling scale replica of mid-town Manhattan, made entirely of unread mail.…

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Added by Brad Rose on December 29, 2010 at 5:00pm — 12 Comments

Furniture Doesn't Cry

I like to take things that don’t belong to me,” Buck confessed.

“Is that why you left?” Lola sneered.

“The story is a little more complex than that, but basically ‘yes.’”

“But I didn’t ‘belong’ to you, Buck, I wasn’t a piece of…

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Added by Brad Rose on December 19, 2010 at 12:30pm — 2 Comments

Waltz

Cathy didn’t know any details of her husband’s death, because all that she had been told by the two Marines who visited her (there was, of course, no phone call—they never call, they just send two Marines to inform the next of kin) was that he had “died honorably in the course of duty.” In fact, she knew nothing of her husband’s grisly elimination---his two missing limbs, or the complete obliteration of his skull--- by the freedom fighters who sought to drive…

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Added by Brad Rose on December 9, 2010 at 10:00pm — 3 Comments

Fresh Kindling

Since his second release, Tito seemed like a burning house, filled with live ammo. At any moment, he threatened to burst into a rage that would fill whatever space he occupied with a snarling, death- threatening malice that would make any gangbanger envy his poisonous demeanor, his I’d-just-as-soon-kill-you-as-look-at-you comportment.

Friday night, as the peach colored smog hunched low against LA’s Slauson Ave., lower than the killing floor of a slaughterhouse, Tito pulled into the… Continue

Added by Brad Rose on December 5, 2010 at 3:00pm — 2 Comments