Jimmy James

My grandmother was a great lover of music, though her taste had calcified in the mid-sixties. She liked the early Beatles. She liked James Brown. She liked Little Stevie Wonder. But her favorite band was the Vagabonds.

According to family legend, which she was happy to share over jam and croissants, she met Jimmy James when she was seventeen and worked at the department store as a sewing assistant. She helped the tailor fit the suits for the customers. She always smiled when she said Jimmy James was a good tipper.

I wondered if she meant that as a euphemism.

The Cookie Jar

Leon sat across the kitchen table, gulping down instant coffee and looking everywhere but at Jaclyn. He was late for work, again, and spoke of nothing else. The toaster pinged and he bustled away.

She felt that their love was like a cookie jar. At first it was full of unexpected treats: crumbly sweetness with sticky jam fillings, dark chocolate coated crunchy goodness, and much, much more.

Now she felt that if she turned the jar upside down and shook it, there might be a few crumbs in there. But it would be too much effort for too little return.

From Guest Contributor Ross Clement

The Tragedy Of The Greens

The green spaces in the village of Turnstell once served the needs of the entire community. Mr. Damhorst grazed his flock of sheep in the fields. Mrs. Graham was able to keep her honeycombs next to the woods. The Goldsmith twins collected berries for their homemade jam.

That was a long time ago. The Greens are no longer green. That's because the sheep attracted wolves, and the berries attracted bears, and the honey, well they brought the bees. Plus a developer chopped down the woods and built a row of high-end condominiums.

But mostly, people just really hated those bees.