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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 11/15/2015 :  17:57:33  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Remember that Border chicken town where we played Weatherman? Well they put up a factory of sorts and business is booming. "Vintage" suitcases. The kind with leather straps and metal corners you used to love. Lined with upholstery fabric (a limited selection...or you may provide your own.) Cost is the same. 1300 pesos at the factory. Across the Border at the Outlet Stores $129. Barneys BH and The Grove $400. "I make you a very fair deal," Roman says, finishing the last of his red pork tamale. His gold tooth sparkles. 76 and 67. Back to you, Blaine.
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 11/17/2015 :  21:58:03  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
It sure is cold out tonight, Sir. Where did you say you were headed? Nashville? Don't bother. They won't know you there. It's just too cold to walk the streets with that old country sound you have. You'll freeze to death in that town, waiting for a break. Trust me ! Mickey? Newbury? That's your name? Well, why didn't you say so right off the bat? I've heard about you! On second thought, you just might run into a singer who can sing your songs. Better yet, sing them yourself. Sure would be nice to hear something different.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 11/21/2015 :  16:57:32  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He had a habit of grabbing her by the hand and steering her through ribbons of twilit traffic. A telescope view on that high-curb corner watching tail lights speed by. The buoyant moon balloon-high above them. The sky filling with starry pictures. "I like to be surprised," he said, "...how 'bout you?" Arches and alcoves and transom windows. Mornings with his breath on the mirror. His DNA on a deck of Bicycle cards.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 11/25/2015 :  17:39:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

...how many nights did he watch the amber lantern moving through the trees? The moonlit waves. The wind chasing the racing clouds across the sky? "Show me the pictures from that time," he said. On the other side of the mirror. Miles of white sand. Slow rolling trains beside that long stretch of Interstate 10. Snow on the bureau. A souvenir globe. The couple inside perpetually dancing.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 11/29/2015 :  19:51:46  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
They lived in the sky and under the sea. They lived on the east and west oceans. Star-long nights over broken stone villages where the sky unspooled its flood of mystery. The lamps low glow when Druids drank and tossed their hammered cups into the sea.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 12/06/2015 :  20:35:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Fog? Epic fog crowding the windows. Adobe walls weeping like frescoes. "...a small thing...time..." he said, intensely watchful. Her India Ink and Hunt nibs. Her X-Acto blades and permanently stained fingerprints. She falls asleep on his chest confusing his heart with an ocean. In the middle of the night he kicks the covers free and they sleep with their feet escaping. Candles burning the house down in Mexico.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 12/13/2015 :  19:05:49  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

They lived in the hills above the city's wild heart on a fairytale trail above the mythic Pacific. A ribbon candy road in the shadow of the sign and the cross. A house for sale many months because of the short bridge between the driveway and the front door. (Slide area. Road narrows. Watch downhill speed.) "Well, most of the streets up here are like that," the anxious realtor said.

Guadalupe Virgins stalk Olvera Street. His hand rests at the small of her back. "Keep talkin'," he says. His gaze so grave. His ferocious concentration. In the beginning she believed he had a photographic memory.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 12/21/2015 :  17:01:17  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
When he reached for her across the lingering abalone-blue twilight she forgot who she was. She became the names he gave her when he opened and closed his eyes. Beguiled, she said, "I dedicate my art, heart and life to you." He said, "Well, now...let's get started."

"Aye, those days, girl..." he said remembering the thimble-size kitchen where they prevailed though the winds were harsh and the seas were salt and pepper. A pinch of kindling. A bit of broth. A sprig of heather on the pillow.

"Leap of Faith..." he said.

One more minute of daylight tomorrow.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 12/31/2015 :  07:14:38  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

He lifts the lid on the box of names, "...for today..." he says, and hands her a scrap of paper.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 01/12/2016 :  16:29:22  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
An old Dunn Edwards paint chart. His choices X'd on the colored squares. Warm Apple for the hallways. For the bedroom Buttered Light. "Because it just flows," he said.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 01/12/2016 :  16:34:19  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He brushes the clouds from around his ankles. "Mornin'," he says and bows. He's fallen through that hole in the sky clearly in a good mood. Reliably alive stepping over cracks in the sidewalk. Whistling a tune that makes her laugh and lean against him. Wide-angle shot. Diffusion filter. Cue music. Pan out to ships at sea.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 01/31/2016 :  18:39:20  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

"...an' all that water out there..."

"No bluffin' in this game," he says, and pulls her into the first darkened doorway. Near her ear he begins a story. Mysterious cargos slip under the bridge. The waves choppy and silver-capped.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 02/03/2016 :  20:44:12  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Their journey was fraught with tremors. Restless roads. Tectonic plates grinding under their shoes. A chore to stay upright. Neon shelters off glass-edged freeways. Unfailing desk clerk asleep in the lobby. Ice machine down the hallway. Pale-moon wafer of mother-of-pearl in rooms with quilts drawn up to their shoulders. Feet sticking out from under the covers plotting the perfect escape.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 02/10/2016 :  17:58:56  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Scribble of fog drifting down the track wrapping its pale scarf around them. His freeze-frame profile on the midnight train window. His lightning-struck summing-up eyes. Sack of warm flour tortillas. Bucket of chile Colorado. Secret compartment leather belt. Pistol snug in his boot.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 02/11/2016 :  19:54:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Some days he reaches across the sky.
Some nights he reaches through it.

Oh, nicked finger.
Oh, heart full of vows.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 02/15/2016 :  14:28:05  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

God's Eyes and Guadalupe Virgins in the windows off Avenida Lopez Mateos. Arches and alcoves. Votives flickering in ruby globes. The relic vendor napping under a sun-dazzled sky. Her tattered umbrella and mylar balloon.

He painted the moon. A silver apparition. The rain. Splattered stars on the cobbled ground. He painted the fish mongers working in the harbor. The dulce peddlers Technicolor skulls. The blissful children's faces. He painted the gravity to keep it all spinning in place.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 02/19/2016 :  17:40:59  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Tiny town fountain and roundabout in the Valle de Guadalupe. Wide tree in the center with a makeshift bench all around. Three wrought iron chairs welded together. Carved picnic bench with painted-over graffiti. A child's wooden highchair with half the legs cut away but the tray intact. Some mornings they'd find a piece added. Suddenly the day turned golden.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 02/20/2016 :  21:01:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
-from Burning the House Down

Each time they return nothing's changed. The four-corner sky and smooth place on the rock they share with blinking lizards. The old metal glider with its faded sunflower cushions. The basket of limes on the table. Maverick wine and arbor jasmine hypnotic as a drug. There's a washing machine but no dryer. From porch to pole where the line dips low the sheets hang folded in sun-charged air.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 02/24/2016 :  19:11:29  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Two blue herons rising out of the marsh that morning. In tandem through layered clouds. Clasp of silver holding the sea and the sky together. Dream seasons in the twentieth century.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 03/12/2016 :  18:31:26  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Two hours with his elbow out the window in a late decade in the twentieth century. Winding washboard roads through grapes sugaring on the vine. Delirious slow bees in meadows of glowing clover. His rolling up and down stride along the arbor path. Key behind the pine eagle he nailed over the double Dutch door. Hand-carved wings in flight.
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