October 17, 2005 @ 9:42 pm
by Jeremy-Joseph Rosen
Jeremy-Joseph Rosen is an author, ingenue, rabble-rouser and roust-a-bout.
Scooter’s first memory of Friday was being in the Kalisotta Koffee Klatch. He had picked up a huge coffee, black, and proceeded to talk to the register girl. She was pretty, intelligent and coquettishly flipped her long black hair every time he was there. As Scooter had just woken up, the conversation consisted entirely of an inarticulate moan and, if he was remembering correctly, a tiny amount of drool.
This was the entirety of every interaction Scooter and the Register Girl had ever had. She seemed to take in Scooter’s befuddled responses with the clinical posture of a doctor and the bemused twinkle of a flirt.
He never could quite get the hang of talking to the register girl, perhaps because didn’t even know her name. Talking about her involved a lot of references to “Register Girl” or “that chick at the KKK.” This last often confused people. more »
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November 13, 2005 @ 10:04 pm
by Jeremy-Joseph Rosen
Jeremy-Joseph Rosen is an author, ingenue,
rabble-rouser and roust-a-bout.
When Scooter was a child, he was a collector, as most children have been throughout the span of human recollection. You probably collected something as a child; be it bottle caps, cards relating to baseball, insects of various genera and species, building block sets mixed up in large bags, coins or stamps actually collected by numismatic or philatelic grandparents, recorded works of music, toy train sets (though this may be considered its own hobby), stuffed animals, comic books or rocks.
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December 19, 2005 @ 7:20 am
by Jeremy-Joseph Rosen
Jeremy-Joseph Rosen is an author, ingenue,
rabble-rouser and roust-a-bout.
Scooter was asleep on a train. He was in that half somnambulant state, the one caused by any type of close-quarter travel. The largest portion of the previous evening had been spent nursing one beer bottle, one cigarette after another and attempting to trace chains of facts through his mind. This was not an exercise he participated in often, but thinking of the East somehow brought this conscious-subconscious game out into the open.
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January 26, 2006 @ 12:01 am
An Ongoing Continuing Serialized Narrative
by Jeremy-Joseph Rosen
And there in a flash was Javier. Not the Javier he had known. No trowel-wielding child was he. In the three seconds during which Scooter saw Javier flash by, he knew exactly who the man in the bright red Yugo was. Older, more withdraw than he had been as a child, but it was Javier.
The car was parked in a lot adjoining the station Scooter’s express train had just shot through. In an instant Scooter came to life. The train would be making a stop at the next station down and he would get off, grab a train going the other direction and find Javier.
Since he had burned down the corn stalk, no one had seen him. There one day, not there that same day. While he may have disappeared, Javier’s influence lasted considerably longer.
One year after discovering the growing palm tree in the South grove, Scooter had noticed another odd thing. He had passed by it once or twice, but this time he really noticed. The experimental lemon bush. The lemons had changed to limes!
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February 26, 2006 @ 12:01 am
by Jeremy-Joseph Rosen
Javier recognized Scooter right away. A brilliant smile, like none Scooter had ever seen on him, crossed Javier’s face. A cigarette dangled from his mouth and his jacket collar was turned up.
“Scooter,” exclaimed Javier.
Some strange force overcame them and they embraced. There was plenty of smiling to go around. Some hearty pats on the back and then a long look at each other. Scooter was curious about Javier.
He asked, “Where have you been?”
Javier laughed.
“Let’s go grab some coffee.”
So Scooter piled into Javier’s car and they were off. The drive was long and curiously quiet. Javier asked Scooter if there was a good shop they could go to and before he could think about the answer, Kalisotta Koffee Klatch was the place that spilled from his mouth.
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