A family that eats together, talks together. Conversely, a family that talks together does not necessarily listen. Like when dad comes home wasted and you know mom’s pissed, all livid and venomous, and grandma’s smiling, always smiling, pretending there’s nothing wrong. She is the great enabler. All the while, you’re just a kid, so the adults think you’re so stupid.
Papa Bookman grunted as he stabbed the piece of pork chop with a slightly bent fork, and put it in his gullet, followed by a healthy handful of mashed potatoes. It is surprising that he managed to yet say, “Where is Heather?”
Marigold, the eldest, knew where her youngest sister was, but she did not hear the question. Truth be told, even if she had heard it, the non-response would have been the same. She was adrift in her sumptuous meal. She sounded like an idling bulldozer, an omnipresence of humming, breathing only through her nose. She was also drooling hard; there was a glistening flow of spittle from her lip to the table like the just recent melding of stalactite and stalagmite.
In this alternate universe, The Batman has a very short lifespan.
In your puny universe, a very young Bruce Wayne witnessed his father, and especially his mother get shot down by a hoodlum, by the name of Joe Chill in Gotham City’s Crime Alley. On that fateful day, a boy also died, and a vengeful man was born, and he would become The Batman.
While his intentions were true, he inadvertently turned the city he’d sworn to protect more dangerous. The presence of The Batman inspired nutcases to come out of the woodworks to commit outrageous crimes just to become famous. Being a criminal in Gotham was not much different than being a contestant on The Voice or American Idol. But this is your asinine reality.
Don’t be a Dopey McDoperson dolt. Do something before you destroy your life, because haircuts define you.
There was no denying it. Franklin Nathaniel Stein was a different man after a good haircut, for the good. Conversely, after a bad haircut, he was nothing more than a run-of-the-mill cantankerous curmudgeon. That was four months ago. Perhaps a coincidence, probably not, the man who butchered his hair, Vince Pattitucci, no longer lives and breathes.
To best understand this story, one must imagine this line and then multiply it by gazillion squared twice, and then minus seven or eight.
As consciousness returned, he found himself standing in a very long line of people. He had no recollection of how, why, where, or what. After about an hour or so, he categorized this whole affair futile. But, he had little to no choice. Wait or step out of line. When he looked behind him, the line was much longer than the one in front of him.