Chuck looked like a thumb today

Waaay out of practice with the scratch fiction. Topic tag courtesy of monkey 0.

"No no no, it's really easy. You get a box like this, see? And you put a light inside."

"Right, they're attracted to light."

"And some bait. That's all it takes. Once you have enough in there, you drop the gate, and..."

Chuck jumped at the sound of the security gate slamming down, high-speed. "What the fuck?"

The chick over by the Twinkies jerked her head around to look at him, ponytail swooshing over one shoulder.

"Hello?" The dude had to be around here somewhere. "Um, guy? Anybody work here?"

Steve and Fayed appeared from the back of the store, Fayed humping a case of Miller. "What's with the gate?"

"Oh, dude, Miller? We can do better than that."

Fayed shrugged. "Is there like a fire or something? Maybe someone tripped a security switch."

Chuck looked over at the girl. She rolled her eyes like why-the-fuck-should-I-know. She put the Twinkies back on the shelf and pursed her lips. "Any of you work here?"

Chuck shook his head for the three of them.

"Yeah," said the chick. She shouldered past Chuck to get behind the counter and picked up the phone.

"Line's dead."

"You're shitting me."

She held the phone out to him, an exasperated sound popping out from between her lips. Short fuse. But that wasn't exactly a minus where Chuck was concerned. Especially not looking like that, all pissed.

Damn, thought Chuck. I look like a thumb today. Flesh-colored t-shirt and freshly shaved head. She must think I'm some kind of obscene joke.

Fayed was still holding onto the beer. Dipshit. "Put the beer down, Fed. Check and see if there's anyone in the bathroom."

Chuck turned back to the girl. Be still my heart, he thought. "Anything back there look like a control for the gate?"

She was searching around behind the counter, lovely brows shoved together in concentration. Fayed was walking back from the bathrooms, hands open. Nothing.

Steve ran over to the gate and started pounding. "Hey! People in here! HEY!"

"What's that thing?"

"Slushie machine. You have one of those, some beer, Funyons, you can get ten, fifteen in an hour, easy."

It took a while to calm Steve down. The idiot left Chuck's cell phone back at the place. And the chick - her name was Brenda - hers wasn't getting any signal. Shitty provider. She sat with her back against the counter playing with the ends of her hair. Her jeans held nice and tight around her ass, smooth neck lifting out of the collar of her sweater. Chuck imagined kissing her just below her earlobe, the down on her neck soft as kitten fur on his lips.

"Hey, they got playing cards here," Fayed held up a pack. Brenda shot him a look like no way in hell, but what else did they have to do? She lifted one shoulder and looked away while he shuffled.

A little too early to suggest strip poker, thought Chuck.

"They're just sitting around. They're not doing anything."

"Shake the box around some. That usually gets them all riled. Watch."

The blogger of the moment

Mr. Thing of the Moment was kind enough to travel far out of his way to meet me in an undisclosed location somewhere in Maine recently.



While Mr. K. is a real photographer with a fancy camera and the very expensive giant lens that captured every horrific detail of my bad hair day (whaddya want - I'd had an unexpected ride in a speedy and windy boat earlier that day), I was carrying my highly professional point-and-shoot:



But I didn't miss my chance to grab a photo of his terribly fashionable Chuck Taylor All-Stars, as well as a glimpse of his famous calves.