Piece of a piece (1/07/1997)

(Date written: 1/7/1997.

I have the names “James” and “Chris – Sept. 13” as possible title notes (?) at the top of the originally typed copy that I revised for this blog.

I was on a big writing kick in 1996-97. Unfortunately, I have yet to locate the rest of the piece. I have started to play around with the old word choice and manipulate my style away from how I originally laid this piece out. I am still unsure about my dialogue form here. I originally did have my dialogue in traditional quotation mark format, but I get bored with that style these days. As long as the readers understand where dialogue starts and ends (hopefully with the help of indention), I will stay with it.

When I do find the rest of the story (I am still looking), I will update this post. If I do not find it, I will finish it up. Enjoy! Suggestions are always appreciated.)


What the fuck are you lookin’ at?

James spat to a young boy that was gawking at him as he walked down the sidewalk. Not that the kid didn’t have a reason for staring or anything, since Phil was walking publicly without any pants on. Dressed from neck to waist in a sports coat, tie, and light blue, finely pressed, button down shirt, Phil looked like any other normal business man. Phil even had on a brand spankin’ new pair of wingtips. However, the area between shoes and sports coat was nothing but naked, wrinkled, pale, slightly splotched with age flesh.

So he had a big meeting today. So he prepared all night long for the big day, not sleeping a wink, and drinking endless cups of the strongest brew he could muster. He had everything in order; his speech was void of digression, slightly dusted with, what he thought, was good “tongue in cheek” humor. His delivery – confident.

How, after all the preparation and organization, could it lead to the biggest fiasco of his career, most will never know. How Phil could not realize he had forgotten – not only his pants, but also his underwear – most will never know. The barest essential to getting dressed in the morning is putting on underwear; Phil had failed. He was styled to the ‘T’ up top. He sported the shiniest soles in the office. He was exposed to the world from waist to ankles. Just danglin’.

What the fuck are you staring at, motherfucker???


Published by Mind Stroll

This is a collage. This is old and new. This is mainly new added to old. This is not a test.

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