Funky

There was something funky about the way no one noticed as he walked the sidewalk.

The gentleman picking out fruit at the corner stand. The woman walking her dog towards him. The delivery man checking over the boxes in back of his truck. Never mind it was ten in the evening.

Not one person glanced in his direction.

He stopped at the newsstand, looked over the headlines, asked about the impending strike at the local paper. The vendor grunted noncommittally.

He fished into his pocket, as if looking for change, and drew in one smooth motion.

Everyone reacted at once.

The Taco Truck

My Tata sat in the front row crying. A photograph of his beloved 1977 taco truck stood next to Mita’s casket. Very first taco truck on the east coast, he always said. Mita bought a taco from the truck at closing. She was a stunner and captured his eye. Always the gentleman, he would not let her walk home in the dark. He drew a crowd as he rolled up to her family home in the taco truck. Her parents came out and wanted to evaluate his cooking. Today will be the first day they will be apart since then.

From Guest Contributor NT Franklin

NT Franklin has been published in Page and Spine, Fiction on the Web, 101 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, CafeLit, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, Scarlet Leaf Review, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, Dime Show Review, among others.

The Office Visit

In his office at the university, Professor Kudrow pounds on the computer keyboard. His research paper needs a rewrite, his ex-wife wants more child support and he feels a migraine coming on. He wants to go home and get drunk.

His grad student, James, appears in the doorway with an older gentleman.

After introductions, James' father confronts the professor.

"My son paid you for a better grade, didn't he? Don't lie to me. I have documents."

The professor froze.

"Your silence is proof enough."

He turns to his son, "My son, a thief and cheat! I'm reporting both of you."

From Guest Contributor Deborah Shrimplin

Botticelli

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

As Sandro walked to his home on Via Borgo Ognissanti, he was so completely preoccupied he did not pay attention to his surroundings and collided forcefully with an unfortunate gentleman. The moderately obscure artist's parchments went sprawling on the brick walkway, some fluttering quite a distance in the breeze.

“Sandro, please look where you’re going."

"I'm sorry, Filippo, but I've just made the most amazing discovery."

Hoping his eccentric neighbor had some interesting gossip to share, Filippo inquired further.

"There is apparently a game, a quite popular one, that is being played around town, and they've named it after me!"

From Guest Contributor Sheila Fields

The Perfect Gentleman

His ties always match his shirt and jacket.

When picking up a date, he knocks on the door. He never honks his horn or yells at her balcony.

When ordering at the restaurant, he allows her to chose her own dish.

You would never know how considerably rich he is.

The only time he curses is in the telling of a story. And even then, not if any minors are present.

When you make a mistake in his presence, he tolerates it graciously.

When he gets a woman pregnant he always pays for the abortion.

He is the perfect gentleman.