ARRGHHHH....I started a short piece for my own challenge and it started growing into a full blown short story....so I am posting only a couple of paragraphs to be fisnished soon....I dont have time to finish it today, but I don't want to not post on my own challenge day, that would be a mess...sorry.
“You are a spring dick.”
“What the hell is that,” William asked, emptying a second packet of Sweet-n-Low into his iced tea.
“A spring dick my dear old friend, is someone who can find fault, regardless of the fact that there is a near perfect spring day upon him and he has nothing to do but spend time with his best friend, soak up the sunshine and revel in the miracle of being alive.”
“Those day lilies smell like cat piss to me, I don’t know why you insist on bringing them indoors. It smells like we live in the cat ladies house. And when is my best friend going to get here?”
“A spring dick.”
“Yes, I heard you the first time.”
The back yard was resplendent in the springtime. The lilies, freesias, wisteria all blooming in a rhapsody of life and color. William and Charles would sit on the porch every day for the next three months from nine until two, William drinking iced tea and smoking small cherry cigars and Charles sipping whatever sickening sweet cocktail of the day he could purge from the depths of his Cooking Light magazine collection. His subscription had long run out, but he had the tattered remains of every issue form March of 2000 until April if 2010, the year he liked to refer to as his “untimely fall from grace.” He had borrowed five hundred dollars cash from the register at Hero’s Bar and Grill, his place of employment at the time. He was short of cash and needed to buy heels and get waxed before the drag competition at Apollo’s the weekend before Pride. He didn’t think the cash would be missed. He was wrong. He always “intended to put it back out of my next paycheck,” but there was no next paycheck for Charles.
The cacophony of fragrances in the back yard put to shame any perfume, of any old woman, on any elevator , in Savannah Georgia, on any given Sunday. That was saying a lot. The hummingbirds would flock by the hundreds in the spring to sip from any one of twenty-five hand decorated bird feeders, Charles was certain that the decoration was what lent to the large number of birds. He was of course, largely overlooking the fact that there were no other hummingbird feeders for at least ten blocks, but then how would he know that was the case.
The grass was as perfect as any grass could be, neatly trimmed and cut, so resilient that sometimes the afternoon sun would reflect harshly into the eyes of anyone on the porch who was not wearing sun glasses. Charles only had the best sunglasses, polarized and designer brands in every shape, color and style you could imagine. The grass was no match for him.
To be continued....