more ed
Harold had a voracious appetite for southern fried, mixed with blended scotch, often sending him to bliss. Though genetically impossible, Jarrod became doused with the same hankering for finger-licking--
Jarrod is the black sheep. At the age of four, he became afflicted with Monkey Shoulder after his father punished him by making him shovel and mash the malt together for hours on end.
Jarrod is the black sheep. At the age of four, he became afflicted with Monkey Shoulder after his father punished him by making him shovel and mash the malt together for hours on end.
On a rare family trip up North, the Courts were strolling the streets of the Liberal city of Vancouver. Tiffany and Diana skipped. Penelope, Penelopeed. Jarrod slept in Harold’s arms, draped over his shoulders. As they passed the Jumping Jack Bar, a bar filled with alternative, animals: lions, bears, plushies, cougars, deer, antelope, hyenas, warthogs, giraffes; and even the odd creature draped in rubber—Harold realized the opportunity. Jarrod, now five, was unwanted, unloved, unworthy. With the women looking the other way, Harold tossed Jarrod through the open window into the crowd of starving creatures, and casually strolled away.
The creatures circled Jarrod. A thirst for blood in their eyes. The circling intensified. Jarrod’s demise had arrived. But before he became the main course of the bar, a lion who happened to be dating a gazelle, pulled Jarrod from the grips of death, retreating to a dark corner of the bar; raising him as their own.
The creatures circled Jarrod. A thirst for blood in their eyes. The circling intensified. Jarrod’s demise had arrived. But before he became the main course of the bar, a lion who happened to be dating a gazelle, pulled Jarrod from the grips of death, retreating to a dark corner of the bar; raising him as their own.
Bub longed for Jarrod, texting him.
B: Where are you?
J: Lost. I jumped on the back of a train, and I am heading east to adventure. The law is chasing me.
J: And, this dog.
B: Where are you?
J: Lost. I jumped on the back of a train, and I am heading east to adventure. The law is chasing me.
J: And, this dog.
J: Her name is Ginger.
B: Where are you going?
J: Maybe, Chicago?
B: Okay, when will you be back?
J: When the wind blows west, blowing me back into your arms. I will miss you Bub.
B: I will miss you too, Jarrod. I love you, sweetie.
J: I will trade my shoes for a snow globe.
B: Great, don’t step on anything sharp.
B: Where are you going?
J: Maybe, Chicago?
B: Okay, when will you be back?
J: When the wind blows west, blowing me back into your arms. I will miss you Bub.
B: I will miss you too, Jarrod. I love you, sweetie.
J: I will trade my shoes for a snow globe.
B: Great, don’t step on anything sharp.
He ordered a ¼ Chicken drizzled in medium heat. He chased the dark golden-brown crispiness, slightly scorching his tongue with delicious pleasure, with perfectly fried, fries; sprinkled in the medium heat of spicy mayo. He licked and licked and licked. Complimenting the heat seamlessly, a crunchy sweet-and-sour slaw, on point, tangy, sweet, goodness.
A sip of coke and Jarrod felt a warmth he’s seldom felt before.
A sip of coke and Jarrod felt a warmth he’s seldom felt before.
Jarrod hit the pavement once more, Ginger at his side walking lockstep, debating the continuation of his adventure east or returning to the loving embrace of his cherished, Bub.
He stopped beside a vintage, albeit filthy, Cadillac, and contemplated--
He stopped beside a vintage, albeit filthy, Cadillac, and contemplated--
EXCERPTS: CHAPTER E: Heading East to Aventure
