The original prints of Out of State Love and many others are for sale now on my Etsy. Please check it out and share it with friends!
Tag Archives: friendship
Out of State Love
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Typography
Tagged 1940s, 1950s, 1960s, admission of love, art, beauty, bridge, couples, dating, Etsy, fiction, flash fiction, found art, found photograph, friends, friendship, go to her, kitsch, life, long distance relationship, love, marriage, original print, photo, photograph, photography, photos, pictures, poetry, reading, relationships, romance, states, typewriter, typography, vintage, writing
La Nuit Française
“I’ve never seen a balloon cause so much trouble!”
“I know, right?” she said to me.
We had just finished watching the 1956 French classic Le Balloon Rouge, or The Red Balloon.
“That kid got into so much trouble!” she said. I nodded. “How did you know there was so little dialogue?”
“Someone told me.” I had come up with the idea of creating our own soundtrack to it, side two of Françoise Hardy’s Maid in Paris, then side one of the Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin record.
“It made it more fun, didn’t it?”
“Oui!”
“Dork.”
She fell back onto the couch and started staring at the ceiling. “I’m glad we didn’t 
sell them.”
“Even though we could use the money.”
“Money can’t replace the beauty of those records.”
Someone had just offered me a shit-ton of money for my collection of record française. Yeah right, like I would part with them.
“Yeah right, like I would part with them. I lugged half of them all the way across Montreal, and most of the others, I left clothing behind in Paris for those. They are definitely worth more than money to me.”
“Me too. They’re half the reason I liked you at first.”
“Very funny.”
“Fine, that’s a lie, but on the first date it is how you lured me back to your place. French records, a little wine, you sure know how to make a girl melt.”
“You’d be surprised how often that line works. I have a nice collection of French records at my place…”
“Nice.” She frowned. “Wait, you are kidding, right?”
“Of course. I’ve never shared these records with another woman.” She looked at me. “What?”
“Never?
I thought about it and decided to come clean. “Fine, fine, I have tried. None of 
them appreciated them.”
“Not as much as me, right?” she said, grabbing my arm and pulling me into her arms.
“Nope!” I said as I kissed her. We made out for a bit until the needle started scratching against nothing, then returned to its arm rest.
“Should I flip it?” she asked. “Or should we maybe watch the movie again with the real audio, just to see if the effect is different?”
I smiled and picked up the remote to start the movie again. The balloon once again floated down to the little boy and I laughed as he was once again told he could not bring it on the bus, thus being late for school again.
“I’ve never seen a balloon cause so much trouble.”
Posted in flash fiction, Zoey and Xander
Tagged Balloon Rouge, comedy, dates, dating, entertainment, fiction, flash fiction, Francaise, Francoise Hardy, French, friends, friendship, fun, hipsters, humor, Jane Birkin, life, lifestyle, love, movies, music, people, photography, photos, pictures, random, records, relationships, romance, Serge Gainsbourg, silly, The Red Balloon, vinyl
Years Later On the Beach
I am now selling digital prints and ORIGINAL one-of-a-kind prints of my typography stories on ETSY. Please stop by the shop and check them out!
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Typography
Tagged beach, childhood, dennis finocchiaro, fiction, flash fiction, friendship, jersey shore, kitsch, life, love, marriage, memories, ocean, old age, photography, photos, relationships, romance, shore, typography, vintage
The Cliff’s Edge
A found photograph with a dark, possibly evil story typed on it with my Brother Charger 11.
This and many other prints can be purchased now at my ETSY! Check it out!
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Typography
Tagged Alfred Hitchcock, art, couples, dark, Edward Gorey, fiction, flash fiction, found art, found photo, friendship, life, love, murder, noir, photograph, photography, romance, Tim Burton, typography, writing
A Sporadic Trip Around the World
“I want to take a trip around the world.”
Illana looked up at Maura to gauge the sincerity of her comment. “Yeah?”
“Yes. Now.”
Illana left her homework and walked over to the bed where Maura lay on her stomach ignoring the text she was assigned.
“You’re one-hundred percent sure?” Maura nodded. “Then get dressed.”
As Maura put on her favorite tee shirt they’d bought because they thought the image looked like Joan Crawford, Illana pulled out an old plaid suitcase, a treasure found at an estate sale a few months back. She opened it and began placing random clothing into it as her friend pulled a skirt up over her black leggings. Once assembled, Maura stepped up to the suitcase, motioning to Illana that it was her turn to get ready.
Pulling out a pair of flower-print shorts and holding them up to a mirror against her leggings, Illana remembered something important and said, “Don’t forget Marilyn. And Old Yellow.” Maura nodded in agreement and grabbed the large framed photograph and a beat up toy car, stuffing them into the vintage case with the clothing.
Illana joined her by the suitcase and they each took a clamp and shut it.
“Let’s go,” Maura said, Illana grabbing the suitcase and following close behind.
***
Illana and Maura waited alongside Paddua Road, a desolate and unused trucking road that ended at a collapsed bridge about three miles towards the mountains. They watched, waiting for an unlikely vehicle.
“I want to see Paris,” Illana said as she propped up the photograph against the suitcase and plopped down in the grass next to the asphalt.
“So generic,” Maura responded. “But yes, we must. And Madrid.”
“Rome.”
“Prague.”
“Really?”
“Yup.”
Maura shielded her eyes from the sun, looking down the empty road. “Nobody’s coming. I want to change my shirt.”
“So change it. There isn’t a house for miles.”
Maura removed the Joan Crawford-like shirt and replaced it with a gray tee,
pulling the long sleeves up to her elbows. She looked down the road again, then started slowly crossing it towards the open field across from them. Illana laid down in the middle of the road and watched her go for a moment before getting up, and grabbing their belongings and heading for the same field.
She joined Maura, who was now sitting amongst the grass and dandelion wishes. Illana plucked one of the nearby flowers and blew on it so that parachutes fluttered in the air, putting on a private dance just for the two teenagers.
“Think we’ll ever actually see the world?”
“Of course we will. Don’t be silly. As soon as we’re eighteen. Summer after we graduate. It’ll happen.”
Maura reached over to the suitcase and opened it, removing the small beat up vehicle they’d found while exploring an abandoned home last summer. She ran her fingers across the writing on the door that said “Kreuzer – Ball Pen Stylo” and then spun one of the wheels. She looked over at Illana, who was laying on her back with her feet in the air. She gently balanced the toy onto Illana’s feet.
“See how long you can keep it there.”
After a few minutes of a quiet breeze and perfect balance, Maura reached over and tickled Illana, making the car roll off her feet and into a particularly large pack of the white dandelions. The car disturbed enough of the flowers to break a large amount of them, and the wind picked up the petals and blew them towards the girls, making a summer snowfall of wishes surround them.
“Make a wish,” Illana told Maura.
“I already did.”
Maura got up and picked up the suitcase.
“Let’s go home.”
Photographs by Laura and Manon of Nonsense of the Truth
Please stop by their AMAZING blog and check out how talented they are!
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers
Tagged art, Belgium, best friends, fiction, flash fiction, friendship, hipster, life, love, marilyn monroe, nonsense of the truth, nonsenseofthetruth, photo, photography, teenagers, teens, world travel
What’s My Motivation?
“I’m an actor, I need my motivation,” he said.
“To make breakfast? Really?” She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with her roommate. “How about to eat? Fulfill your animalistic need to feed? Survival?”
“Meh.”
“Don’t you have call backs later today? I don’t know – a stomach growling on stage, not sure how that would go over. Imagine what the casting director would say…”
He jumped up and headed for the kitchen as a sly smile crossed her face.
“Still got it,” she said, lounging back onto their orange velvet couch. She pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and curled herself up into it. A few minutes worth of sizzling sounds came from the kitchen and moments later he was above her holding out a plate and mug. “Spinach omelet. Irish Breakfast tea with a splash of milk.”
“Yum,” she said as she sat up and took them from his hands.
“I hope you’re happy.”
“It was your turn!” she said with a frown.
“Your hair is a mess. You have sex hair.”
“I do not!”
“Do you honestly think I didn’t hear captain marvelous stumble out this morning? He stepped on Walter,” he said as their cat entered the room on queue, almost frowning at her in frustration after having been stepped on.
“Aw, Walter, come here, I’m so sorry,” she said in a baby voice, making him cringe.
“So, yeah, sex hair. You’re so transparent. If you’re planning on going to class I would at least run a brush through it. Not that the neighbors don’t know what a whore you are, what with all that noise last night. Or maybe they’ll just think Walter was in a cat fight.”
“Sounds like you’re the one in the mood for a cat fight. Don’t forget to wash the dishes,” she said, leaving her plate behind on the couch for him to pick up but bringing the mug with her. He grunted she spun back to answer.
“It’s your turn! I did breakfast yesterday!”
“Yeah, I remember, runny eggs and toast barely toasted. A real treat.”
He sat back and ate the last bit of his omelet and then jumped a bit as she screamed.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to brush my hair! It’s really knotted!”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have let him pull it so much.”
She poked her head out of the bathroom, blushing a little.
“Yeah, I heard that part too. Everyone did. Whore.”
“You’re just jealous that I have a man and you don’t.”
“For the hundredth time I AM NOT GAY.”
“Now who is transparent?” she asked from the doorway again, this time smiling.
“Try taking a shower. You can’t possibly be planning on going out today without washing off the stink of nasty, dirty hair-pulling sex.”
This time only a hand with an extended finger protruded from the bathroom.
“Mature.”
She started running the shower and then poked her head out again.
“Shouldn’t you be heading out to callbacks? Or do you need me to tell you your motivation. Probably to get a beej from the director.”
He gave her the finger, and as he did so noticed the time on his watch, cursed, grabbed his coat and ran towards the door.
“Have a nice day, slut.”
Posted in flash fiction
Tagged acting, actor, anger, best friends, breakfast, cooking, fiction, flash fiction, friends, friendship, gay, homosexual, humor, life, motivation, omelet, roommates, sarcasm, sex, stage, tea
Blind Date
I walked up to our regular table in the bland office cafeteria to find Darlene and Shauna deep in conversation. I pulled out a chair and quietly joined them.
“…so I thought of you right away,” finished Darlene.
“I’m not even looking to date, though,” Shauna responded.
Darlene sighed, rolled her eyes, and gave her a look. “I met him at a Walmart… how bad could he be?”
Shauna shifted in her seat and finally recognized the fact that I sat down.
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“Good. They were out of tuna salad. What’s going on?”
“Darlene met some random guy at the Walmart the other day, struck up a conversation with him, and then decided he was my dream guy.”
Darlene frowned. “He’s good looking, and has a job!”
“What’s his job? I won’t date another landscaper…”
“He’s got some office job, not sure. But he’s good looking!”
“Does he have red hair? Because I don’t want to date someone with red hair.”
“I already told you, his hair is brown. And no, before you ask, he’s not balding.”
Shauna looked at me. “She actually asked the guy if he thought he would bald eventually. With me right there on the phone. Can you believe that?”
I shook my head no and I brushed my hand through my own hair, wondering.
“Then she handed me the phone, and I had what was probably the most awkward conversation in my life.”
“He’s nice!” she added. “I would date him if I weren’t already married to Pete.”
“Does he have a lisp or a limp?” Shauna asked.
“Huh?”
“DOES HE HAVE A LISP OR A LIMP? I won’t date a guy who has either.”
“You talked to him, did it sound like he had a lisp?” she asked.
“No, but still.”
“No. To both. No limp, no lisp.”
“Wait,” I broke in. “What if he had a limp, but it was only temporary?” Shauna looked at me like I was crazy. “Like if he stubbed his toe, like an hour ago. Or that time I sprained my ankle. I had a limp, but it wasn’t permanent…”
Shauna looked away from me and back to Darlene. “Okay let me ask you this. Does he look like he would spend a lot of time playing Modern Warfare? Because I’ve done that already… I do not want to date someone else who plays video games ninety percent of the time.”
Darlene shook her head. “I don’t think so. I didn’t ask…”
“Is he a Trekkie?”
“A what?”
“Star Trek! Does he look like he would watch a lot of weird TV shows?”
“I think he watches Lost. Is that similar?”
I couldn’t believe I was hearing this conversation. It seemed scary to experience a woman’s thought process as she decided if someone is date-worthy. I wondered if all women thought this way, or if this was just Shauna’s perspective. I did secretly love Lost, but I wasn’t sure which way she leaned on that topic.
“Darlene, come on. Do you think he’s crazy?”
“Crazy how?”
“Crazy crazy, you know. Is he a creeper?”
“What’s a creeper?”
“Someone creepy.”
“Would I set you up with someone creepy?
“I don’t know. Is he creepy?”
Darlene sighed again and took a bite of her sandwich to keep from answering.
“You do have to be careful with crazy,” I blurted, trying to fill in the quiet. “I once dated a girl who wouldn’t let me look at her in the morning.”
All eyes pointed towards me like a lobster had just crawled out of my pants.
“What?” they both said.
“She had some sort of mental thing… she’d spend an hour in the bathroom every morning before I could look at her.”
Awkward silence.
“Body dysmorphic disorder! That’s what it’s called.”
Still staring at me.
“Although sometimes I think she spent most of the time in the bathroom crying…”
I should probably shut up.
“What?”
“That’s… that’s really crazy, Ben. That can’t have been a good relationship.”
I looked down at my food. “It was okay.”
Darlene surprised me. “So that means there was no morning sex? Damn, I love morning sex. What a great way to start the day.”
Now all eyes were on her.
“What?”
“TMI, Darlene,” Shauna said.
“What’s TMI?”
We both rolled our eyes.
Darlene continued. “Didn’t he add you on Facebook?”
I looked up. I didn’t even know Shauna had a Facebook. Why wasn’t I her friend on there?
“Yup.”
“Then you saw his pictures. He has some up, right?”
“Yeah… but pictures… I dunno…”
I broke in. “People always pick the ones they look best in, and sometimes they are lies. The photos could be old, or even someone else! Or just from a good angle. I once had this Internet date and the girl…”
“Okay, stop right there,” interrupted Darlene. “He’s not a bad looking guy in real life. Okay? Can you take my word for it?”
No response.
“Well anyway, the guy doesn’t have a limp or a lisp, he has a full head of not-red hair, and as far as I know he’s not a sci-fi nerd or a Trekkie or anything else but a normal guy.”
“Except he shops at Walmart.”
“Except for that, yes.”
“I don’t shop at Walmart,” I said. I thought about just shutting up, since every single thing I said got me odd looks.
Darlene picked up her tray. “Okay, I’m done. I’ve got to get back to the office; we’re buried in work up there. Have a nice date tonight!”
Shauna and I waved goodbye.
“You’re going out with him tonight?”
Shauna nodded.
“Well… good luck?”
She nodded again.
“How long have you known Darlene?”
“Five days?”
The Irony of Fortunes
Some music to accompany the story:
He opens the fortune cookie, drops the remnants onto the little dish, and reads it out loud. “Your life will be happy and peaceful.”
“That’s ironic,” I say from across the table.
“Why?” he asks me.
I give him a quizzical look. How could he fail to see the irony in this situation? “Why are we here tonight? Why did you drag me out on the coldest, rainiest night ever to a Chinese Restaurant we haven’t been to since we were dating ten years ago?”
“I sometimes forget we dated, we’ve been best friends for so long. We used to come here all the time.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. But that’s not why we’re here.”
“Oh yeah…that.”
He’s so frustrating. Clueless. But then, that’s the kind of person who would do this in times like these.
“So,” he said, “Can I have your orange wedge?”
I push the little plate towards him. “Knock yourself out.”
He reaches his big, stupid hand over to my plate and takes the wedge. He starts slurping at it, sounding like a kid who just started wearing braces.
“Don’t you think I’ll look good in fatigues?”
Ugh. “Yeah I hear they’re quite slimming.”
He looks like I just slapped him. He puts down the chewed remnants of peel. The smell reaches me, making me regret giving up the orangey sweetness.
His gaze is drawn outside, looking at the street now devoid of cars. Every once in a while the wind blows a splattering of drops onto the window.
“It’s nice here, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is. I don’t get why you would leave.”
“There’s so much peace and quiet.”
I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall. He continues.
“I love this place. I’m going to miss it.”
“Then why go?”
“You know.”
I really didn’t. There is no reason, no point. The worst is that as of now it’s faceless to me. I don’t know anyone there, so I don’t need to worry or care. I can avoid it by staying away from the news, papers, websites. But now he will be there, and now it has a face and I will be confronted with it at all hours. At work. In the car. Washing the dishes. On a date. I’m forced to think about it now…and it makes me feel…
“Uncomfortable?” he asks.
“Huh?” It is like he was reading my mind.
“You look uncomfortable. Need to switch? My chair is pretty soft.”
“No, no thanks,” I say, laughing a little.
“I ship out pretty early tomorrow.”
“Do they still say that? Ship out? Isn’t that the navy?”
He turns a little red, reminding me of the time he walked in on my little sister changing.
“I dunno…”
“Maybe you better find out before you make an ass of yourself.”
He gets up, bumping into the table and making the glasses of water sway enough to spill a bit over the edge. He drops a twenty on the table.
“Thanks. This was important.”
“I know,” I whisper.
He turns to go, and I feel like I need to say something meaningful, but can’t think over the emotional noise cluttering my head.
“Wait.”
He turns, but I still don’t know what I want to say.
He gives me a sad wave and turns around to leave. Pulling his coat tighter, he opens the door and is attacked by the wind, rain spraying him as he makes his way out of my life, and possibly out of his.
Posted in flash fiction
Tagged army, best friends, Chinese food, death, fear, fiction, flash fiction, fortune cookies, fortunes, friendship, life, loss, rain, sorrow, war
A Flash of Inspiration 