Keep Movin’

—Get in the car, doll.

—Where we goin’, Roy?

—To get us some money.

—Gonna buy me something pretty?

—The world, babe.

—Slow down. You almost—

—Look in your purse.

—A gun.

—Know how to use it?

—Point and pull?

—That’s all.

—Who’m I gonna point it at?

—You’ll see.

—Why the mystery?

—There’s Buster, on that park bench.

—You gonna stop?

—He ain’t movin’.

—Looks like a bullet hole in his head.

—Change of plan, doll.

—Who killed him, Roy?

—Wasn’t me.

—Didn’t Buster teach you all you know?

—Main thing he said was, keep movin’.

—Slow down, Roy.From Guest Contributor Joe Surkiewicz

Joe writes from northern Vermont.

She Looked On The Bright Side

“Going to the wedding, are you?” The SuperValu cashier jigged the question as the wiry woman with blowzy white hair fished coins from her purse for the crossword lotto cards lying on the counter. “Here you go, exactly.” She plunked the coins down and scooped up her cards. “Hope you’re a winner. Spelling games are my pet picks,” quipped the cashier. “Yes, I deserve a good spell; even though these daily lotto spoil everything. I’ll be back in a short bit to bet on today’s talk of the town. I have a hunch the odds are running in my favor.”

From Guest Contributor M.J. Iuppa

The Hold-Up

Standing in a long bank line that isn’t moving makes M itchy. The dog controller, sloughed in front of her, smells of stale tobacco. M stands too close, and her nose begins to run. In time to her sniffles, the line of gritty workmen shifts its weight. M looks ahead and sees the hold-up—the town collector, cashing her social security. At last, she steps away. The line glares at her. On her way out, red velvet cupcakes catch her eye. She stops, takes napkins, and stacks a tower inside her oversized purse—smiling, this is what she came for.

From Guest Contributor M.J. Iuppa

Happy Halloween

I’m driving home from Lori’s Halloween party when the car engine dies. It’s after midnight, the road is desolate, and I’m tired. I reach into my purse for the cell phone, but it’s not there.

Leaning back in my seat, taking a deep breath, I close my eyes. A knock on the window startles me.

“Miss, are you okay?”

It’s a man dressed as Count Dracula, his fangs scarily realistic.

“My engine died.”

“Let me look at it for you.”

As soon as I exit my car, Count Dracula grabs my purse and drives off in his truck.

Happy Halloween.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Alma's Journey

I'd always known about my husband's cheating, but when he was home, he was good company. Now he'd left.

Was I losing my mind, too?

"Leave Miami," my daughter had said. She’d just given birth to my only grandchild. "You can start over with us in Orlando."

What was she was thinking? She knows I've never been more than thirty miles from home.

I looked down. The purse I thought I'd lost was between my shoes.

Picking up my purse, I couldn’t wait for the train doors to open fully—my daughter cradling my granddaughter on the brightly lit platform.From Guest Contributor Geoffrey Philp

Geoffrey is the author of the YA novel, Garvey’s Ghost. He teaches English and Creative Writing at the Inter-American Campus of Miami Dade College.