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Disclaimer – Los Angeles, Venice Beach, tourists, the cement sidewalks, recycled air, Jarod, fairies, burritos, secret sauce…. Well, the list goes on, so I may as well stop before it gets longer than the story. In any event, nothing but the arrangement of words belongs to me (minus quotations from the likes of Shakespeare).
Twilight
By Serendipitous Cake
Twilight in Los Angeles
A typical summer night in Los Angeles begins at approximately eight p.m. as twilight sets in and the air temperature cools with the disappearance of the sun. The concrete sidewalks, having collected heat throughout the day, are still warm to the touch, and the locals pad around barefoot, reveling in the strange dichotomy of sensations. Tourists who have spent their day breathing the chilled, recycled air of large shopping malls are forced to venture into the uncomfortably dry atmosphere outside as Wet Seal and the GAP roll down their steel security fences at closing time, leaving out-of-town shoppers believing that pristine name brand labels justify the overpriced cost of a pair of pants. Small vendors on the beach roll up their cheaply made sweatshop tapestries, knowing that the majority of nighttime strollers are natives to the area, who will not believe their puffed out claims regarding one of a kind Chinese carpets. Daytime street performers return home with the day’s draw, and Venice Beach becomes permeated with troubadours and entertainers so dedicated to their arts that the lack of a gullible audience does not even register to them. This is the hour Jarod enjoys most because the pushy crowds vanish to overly refrigerated hotel rooms and restaurants, leaving the open streets to residents, and the vibrant spirit of the area comes to life.
Street Gifts
Jarod’s sandals dangled errantly from his left hand as he strolled along the sandy walkway. He had taken a cue from the locals and pulled them off in favor of direct contact with the earth below him. Now, he walked carelessly along the path, ignoring the bits of broken glass and loose trash that littered the ground.
He had become entranced with Venice Beach a few years ago while on a pretend. Everyone seemed to be so wrapped up in their own ideas and lifestyles – and yet they all lived together without quarrel. They had taken their corner of the world and made their own dreams come true. Artists, philosophers, lawyers, fools – they all co-mingled and there appeared to be no separation between them. The carefree nature of the area was something he had never experienced before.
A woman dressed like a fairy drew Jarod’s attention as she danced toward him on a pair of rollerblades. Her movements were awkward, but smooth at the same time. She was probably a dancer. Every now and then she would pause to put glowing neon necklaces around people’s necks. As she bestowed each person with her gift, she seemed to be giving them some token piece of advice, or perhaps they were nonsense words. Jarod couldn’t quite make out what she was saying.
"Life is a tale told by an idiot full of sound and fury signifying nothing," the strange little creature said with gravity, as she finally reached Jarod. She slipped a blue, green, and purple, multicolored necklace over his head. Before Jarod could respond, she had flitted off toward the next person she would cross paths with.
Jarod turned to watch her inquisitively.
"Give me your hands if we be friends," her voice reached back to him from her next encounter.
Jarod chuckled, wondering why a young woman would dress like an imaginary creature to go rollerblading. But, more specifically, why she would hand out glowing necklaces while reciting lines from Shakespearean plays.
"Parting is such sweet sorrow," the fairy skater continued on down the path.
Everyone that the girl spoke to appeared to be enjoying her gift; a few teenagers were twirling the necklaces around their fingertips and some children were running around in the sand, playing frisbee with their necklaces as their father looked on in amusement.
Jarod smiled. It was definitely an enjoyable atmosphere. He was glad he had decided to arrive early for his pretend.
Secret Sauce
"So, you put beef, rice, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, sour cream, and some sort of red sauce on to this flattened, flour-based disc and fold it into a cylinder?"
"It’s called a burrito," the tall man behind the ordering window replied gruffly. "And the flat disc is a tortilla."
Jarod accepted the large burrito as the man handed it to him, inspecting it carefully.
"Well, go on, taste it," the man urged.
Incredulously, Jarod took a large bite. His face brightened as he chewed. "It’s very good," he announced, around a mouthful of food. After swallowing, he added, "What kind of spices are in the red sauce?"
"It’s a secret, that’s why we call it ‘secret sauce.’"
"Oh." Jarod nodded. "Well, the flavor of the red sauce really accentuates the beef without undermining the cheese."
The man stared at Jarod blandly. "It ain’t cuisine. It’s just a burrito." He paused and watched Jarod take another large bite. "Would you like something to drink, mister?"
Jarod swallowed and looked at the small stand’s menu, "Um, yes. What is ‘horchata?’"
Color
Pacific Ocean Blue was a crayon color, but appropriately titled, if you weren’t on the Los Angeles coast. The water here was polluted with garbage and ugly shades of seaweed – leaving everything a sickening greenish yellow. Olive Green, the crayon company called it. But olives were too pretty to be associated with it, he thought.
He had helped clean up an oil spill here once. It wasn’t pretty like the small oil spills cars made on asphalt – they were multicolored and prismatic. The oil in the ocean had been Onyx colored, but not sparkly like the crayon box claimed, and not pretty like the stone. Black. Just black.
The sand was nice, but not as fine or pure as it was up the coast. It was greyish here and creamy up North. There were no crayons with those colors, but he knew the proportions of red, green, and blue that would make them. Maybe he should tell the crayon company.
Midnight Blue was a nice color, but not justified here either. Midnight Blue sounded velvety and was deep and rich on paper. The sky was simply blackish and dark. Maybe there was a faint hint of blue, but he couldn’t see it. There were no stars just too much pollution and a halo of artificial city light.
Seafoam Green wasn’t the color of seafoam at all, even when the water was green. True seafoam was white. But Seafoam Green seemed the combination of a colorful atmosphere and a dirty beach. Beauty mingled with filth must have made Seafoam Green.
And then there was Wisteria. The name of a flower and the color of his walk. Wisteria was a sorrowful purple, but so very pretty and so very light at times. Wisteria was this place where beauty and filth made Seafoam Green and Wisteria was him when he walked through it.
Legitimate Tails
Jarod felt their presence behind him. A life in front of cameras had trained him well, and he knew when he was being watched.
He paused and looked down as though he had spotted a seashell, hoping it would allow him to survey the situation.
Two men in suits were approaching him from the South and another two from the East, but there were none making their way toward him from the North. It was a poorly structured attack, but his face darkened nonetheless.
They didn’t appear to be Centre sweepers, but they were still fairly burly and large. He would be hard pressed to face them head on. He would need to find some way to slip away from them without drawing too much attention
Creeping
Jarod continued to stroll leisurely along the beach,
W
h
e
n he hap
p
e
ned upon
a ls
roc l i
k i d
y h e
y up a
l n
l d
u th
f e
e n
r ba
ca c
t k
p d
e o
cr w
e n
h dodging behind
a
lifeguard
shack
so
that
he
could
get
a
better
hold
on
the
situation.
Jaguar
One knows that it is extremely uncommon to come across a large feline on a sandy beach, but Jarod was quite sure that the reflective glow he saw and the quick pounce of a black figure had been a jaguar. At ten p.m. in Los Angeles, this is not common, and surely cause to question one’s mental health. However, he had no time to think beyond small fragmented thoughts as he was thrown to the ground by the slinky figure.
Its mane was flung back wildly as it tackled him, and then its fine hairs tickled his face as he was pinned to the ground. Its long claws dug into his skin as though he were a small squeaky cat toy meant to be pawed and shredded in hopes of pleasing its master by proving that it knew better than to shred the furniture.
A kaleidoscope of images filled Jarod’s head as he tried to match a black cat with a mane to one of the many cats he had studied while reading an Encyclopedia Britannica at a children’s studyhall. He did not have any luck.
Pained Hope
"I would have been here sooner but some bimbo on rollerblades felt the need to spout sonnets to me."
"Miss Parker?" Stunned acknowledgement.
"Well I’m sure as hell not Santa Claus." Annoyance. "Stay down." Cold orders.
"Could you please take your nails out of my side?" Pained hope.
Cold Facts
Suspects:
John Doe #1
John Doe #2
John Doe #3
John Doe #4
Suspect Descriptions:
Witnesses’ descriptions conflict
Victims:
Jane Doe #1
John Doe #5
Victim Descriptions:
Witnesses’ descriptions conflict.
Rounds fired:
24
Weapons:
9 mm, unregistered
9 mm, unregistered
9 mm, unregistered
9 mm, unregistered
9 mm, unregistered
Witnesses:
Tari Lemke, distance 50 feet
John Halbrook, distance 51 feet
Jacob Allen, distance 51 feet
Alyson Portnoy, distance 124 feet
Steve Portnoy, distance 124 feet
Carol Spinney, distance 150 feet
Dave Spinney, distance 150 feet
Michael Spinney, distance 150 feet
Harold Potts, distance 200 feet
Time:
22:12:05 July 24, 2002
Wounded:
None
Two Households
Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profainers of this neighbor-stainèd steel—
Will they not hear? What ho! You men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issued from your veins!
Will thou not hear the cry of a peasant?
I shall proclaim it unto thee in short:
Take heed. A plague on both your houses.
Distractions
Some unseen force had stirred the wind, creating an echo chamber and tipping the cards in Jarod and Miss Parker’s favor. Jarod’s pursuers were momentarily distracted by the reverberating words of a scuffle on the walkway several feet up the beach, and Miss Parker had the opening to fire several rounds directly at them. A few seconds later, each of the suited men were crumpled on the ground in pain having sustained painful but non-lethal injuries.
Jarod grabbed Miss Parker’s arm and pulled her up quickly.
"Come on."
Chaos
The unexpected source of Jarod and Miss Parker’s good fortune was non other than the rollerblading fairy. Having approached the wrong person at the wrong time, she was soon apprehended by the local beach patrol. As luck would have it, the coastal wind patterns shifted at exactly that moment, creating a percussive draft that carried her argument down the beach approximately fifty feet to the ears of Jarod’s armed pursuers. And in Tokyo a butterfly flapped its wings, subsequently creating a tornado in Tulsa Oklahoma.
Lucky
Jarod quickly shoved Miss Parker into his apartment and shut the door.
"Gee, Jarod. I appreciate your thanks," Miss Parker stated caustically.
"Why are you here?" he asked coldly.
"I guess saving your sorry ass isn’t a good enough reason," she replied coolly. "Forgive me for interrupting your attempted assassination."
"Who sent them?" His voice was dark, sinister. "Lyle?" He advanced towards Miss Parker, continuing coldly. "Was Raines hoping to kill me once and for all? Or is the Triumvirate finally sick of this game?"
Miss Parker gave a violent push to Jarod’s chest when he invaded her space. "They were outside hires from a corporation in Ohio. If Raines and the Triumvirate wanted you dead you’d have a bullet in your head from a long-range sniper," she hissed. "The Centre doesn’t even know you’re here."
Jarod’s eyes narrowed. "How did you find me?"
"Angelo," she replied coolly. "Cousin it spazzed out and came barreling into my office saying you needed help." She pulled a folded piece of printer paper out of her pocket. "He gave me this."
Jarod took the paper from her and read it carefully. "It’s a hit order from a company I worked for in February."
"Another pretend bites boywonder in the ass," Miss Parker sneered. "You’re just lucky I wasn’t busy."
Business
At eleven thirty, more men were dispatched to complete the hit. When they got to the hotel, Jarod’s room was empty. The man at the front desk claimed to have no idea where they went. Unfortunately, John didn’t believe him. The clerk died at eleven thirty-seven with a gunshot wound to the head. Being the new kid, Jimmy, was ill at the sight. John reminded him it wasn’t personal--it was business.
Math
2 old friends/enemies/rivals/adversaries/friends
plus 1 perpetual argument
--------------------------------
1 normal conversation/encounter
2 desires for freedom
plus 2 great costs
--------------------------------
1 continual circle
1 proposition
plus 1 proposition
--------------------------------
1 new conversation/encounter
Daybreak
Around five thirty a.m., coffee fumes begin to waft through the thin spaces surrounding the entrance to the local Starbucks. Businessmen and women greet its aroma graciously as they prepare for the stressful days and long commutes necessary to maintain high paying jobs at professional institutions. College students who have pulled all-nighters suddenly awaken from geography-induced stupors to realize that they have four hours before their assignments are due and desperately need the swift kick a blended latte will provide. Athletes, retirees, and mothers alike awaken to prepare for an early morning jog before the sun comes out and drives away the lingering waves of cool air the night has brought on. Metropolitan buses begin their routes around the city, before sports cars, Harleys and the latest SUVs fill the city streets and freeways. Truck drivers continue their routes across states and countries, silently upholding commerce with little acknowledgment or thanks. Mattress corners glare defiantly from beneath their confines, speaking either of tumultuous nightmares or passionate affairs. Lovers who have spent the night coiled in each other’s arms awake to the sounds of newly-risen birds and a tangle of sheets. Such were the circumstances Jarod and Miss Parker met upon the pleasant realization that morning always followed night, and light could always be born from darkness.
Fin
AN: I hope you enjoyed my mottled tale. Thank you for reading.
Twilight
By Serendipitous Cake
Twilight in Los Angeles
A typical summer night in Los Angeles begins at approximately eight p.m. as twilight sets in and the air temperature cools with the disappearance of the sun. The concrete sidewalks, having collected heat throughout the day, are still warm to the touch, and the locals pad around barefoot, reveling in the strange dichotomy of sensations. Tourists who have spent their day breathing the chilled, recycled air of large shopping malls are forced to venture into the uncomfortably dry atmosphere outside as Wet Seal and the GAP roll down their steel security fences at closing time, leaving out-of-town shoppers believing that pristine name brand labels justify the overpriced cost of a pair of pants. Small vendors on the beach roll up their cheaply made sweatshop tapestries, knowing that the majority of nighttime strollers are natives to the area, who will not believe their puffed out claims regarding one of a kind Chinese carpets. Daytime street performers return home with the day’s draw, and Venice Beach becomes permeated with troubadours and entertainers so dedicated to their arts that the lack of a gullible audience does not even register to them. This is the hour Jarod enjoys most because the pushy crowds vanish to overly refrigerated hotel rooms and restaurants, leaving the open streets to residents, and the vibrant spirit of the area comes to life.
Street Gifts
Jarod’s sandals dangled errantly from his left hand as he strolled along the sandy walkway. He had taken a cue from the locals and pulled them off in favor of direct contact with the earth below him. Now, he walked carelessly along the path, ignoring the bits of broken glass and loose trash that littered the ground.
He had become entranced with Venice Beach a few years ago while on a pretend. Everyone seemed to be so wrapped up in their own ideas and lifestyles – and yet they all lived together without quarrel. They had taken their corner of the world and made their own dreams come true. Artists, philosophers, lawyers, fools – they all co-mingled and there appeared to be no separation between them. The carefree nature of the area was something he had never experienced before.
A woman dressed like a fairy drew Jarod’s attention as she danced toward him on a pair of rollerblades. Her movements were awkward, but smooth at the same time. She was probably a dancer. Every now and then she would pause to put glowing neon necklaces around people’s necks. As she bestowed each person with her gift, she seemed to be giving them some token piece of advice, or perhaps they were nonsense words. Jarod couldn’t quite make out what she was saying.
"Life is a tale told by an idiot full of sound and fury signifying nothing," the strange little creature said with gravity, as she finally reached Jarod. She slipped a blue, green, and purple, multicolored necklace over his head. Before Jarod could respond, she had flitted off toward the next person she would cross paths with.
Jarod turned to watch her inquisitively.
"Give me your hands if we be friends," her voice reached back to him from her next encounter.
Jarod chuckled, wondering why a young woman would dress like an imaginary creature to go rollerblading. But, more specifically, why she would hand out glowing necklaces while reciting lines from Shakespearean plays.
"Parting is such sweet sorrow," the fairy skater continued on down the path.
Everyone that the girl spoke to appeared to be enjoying her gift; a few teenagers were twirling the necklaces around their fingertips and some children were running around in the sand, playing frisbee with their necklaces as their father looked on in amusement.
Jarod smiled. It was definitely an enjoyable atmosphere. He was glad he had decided to arrive early for his pretend.
Secret Sauce
"So, you put beef, rice, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, sour cream, and some sort of red sauce on to this flattened, flour-based disc and fold it into a cylinder?"
"It’s called a burrito," the tall man behind the ordering window replied gruffly. "And the flat disc is a tortilla."
Jarod accepted the large burrito as the man handed it to him, inspecting it carefully.
"Well, go on, taste it," the man urged.
Incredulously, Jarod took a large bite. His face brightened as he chewed. "It’s very good," he announced, around a mouthful of food. After swallowing, he added, "What kind of spices are in the red sauce?"
"It’s a secret, that’s why we call it ‘secret sauce.’"
"Oh." Jarod nodded. "Well, the flavor of the red sauce really accentuates the beef without undermining the cheese."
The man stared at Jarod blandly. "It ain’t cuisine. It’s just a burrito." He paused and watched Jarod take another large bite. "Would you like something to drink, mister?"
Jarod swallowed and looked at the small stand’s menu, "Um, yes. What is ‘horchata?’"
Color
Pacific Ocean Blue was a crayon color, but appropriately titled, if you weren’t on the Los Angeles coast. The water here was polluted with garbage and ugly shades of seaweed – leaving everything a sickening greenish yellow. Olive Green, the crayon company called it. But olives were too pretty to be associated with it, he thought.
He had helped clean up an oil spill here once. It wasn’t pretty like the small oil spills cars made on asphalt – they were multicolored and prismatic. The oil in the ocean had been Onyx colored, but not sparkly like the crayon box claimed, and not pretty like the stone. Black. Just black.
The sand was nice, but not as fine or pure as it was up the coast. It was greyish here and creamy up North. There were no crayons with those colors, but he knew the proportions of red, green, and blue that would make them. Maybe he should tell the crayon company.
Midnight Blue was a nice color, but not justified here either. Midnight Blue sounded velvety and was deep and rich on paper. The sky was simply blackish and dark. Maybe there was a faint hint of blue, but he couldn’t see it. There were no stars just too much pollution and a halo of artificial city light.
Seafoam Green wasn’t the color of seafoam at all, even when the water was green. True seafoam was white. But Seafoam Green seemed the combination of a colorful atmosphere and a dirty beach. Beauty mingled with filth must have made Seafoam Green.
And then there was Wisteria. The name of a flower and the color of his walk. Wisteria was a sorrowful purple, but so very pretty and so very light at times. Wisteria was this place where beauty and filth made Seafoam Green and Wisteria was him when he walked through it.
Legitimate Tails
Jarod felt their presence behind him. A life in front of cameras had trained him well, and he knew when he was being watched.
He paused and looked down as though he had spotted a seashell, hoping it would allow him to survey the situation.
Two men in suits were approaching him from the South and another two from the East, but there were none making their way toward him from the North. It was a poorly structured attack, but his face darkened nonetheless.
They didn’t appear to be Centre sweepers, but they were still fairly burly and large. He would be hard pressed to face them head on. He would need to find some way to slip away from them without drawing too much attention
Creeping
Jarod continued to stroll leisurely along the beach,
W
h
e
n he hap
p
e
ned upon
a ls
roc l i
k i d
y h e
y up a
l n
l d
u th
f e
e n
r ba
ca c
t k
p d
e o
cr w
e n
h dodging behind
a
lifeguard
shack
so
that
he
could
get
a
better
hold
on
the
situation.
Jaguar
One knows that it is extremely uncommon to come across a large feline on a sandy beach, but Jarod was quite sure that the reflective glow he saw and the quick pounce of a black figure had been a jaguar. At ten p.m. in Los Angeles, this is not common, and surely cause to question one’s mental health. However, he had no time to think beyond small fragmented thoughts as he was thrown to the ground by the slinky figure.
Its mane was flung back wildly as it tackled him, and then its fine hairs tickled his face as he was pinned to the ground. Its long claws dug into his skin as though he were a small squeaky cat toy meant to be pawed and shredded in hopes of pleasing its master by proving that it knew better than to shred the furniture.
A kaleidoscope of images filled Jarod’s head as he tried to match a black cat with a mane to one of the many cats he had studied while reading an Encyclopedia Britannica at a children’s studyhall. He did not have any luck.
Pained Hope
"I would have been here sooner but some bimbo on rollerblades felt the need to spout sonnets to me."
"Miss Parker?" Stunned acknowledgement.
"Well I’m sure as hell not Santa Claus." Annoyance. "Stay down." Cold orders.
"Could you please take your nails out of my side?" Pained hope.
Cold Facts
Suspects:
John Doe #1
John Doe #2
John Doe #3
John Doe #4
Suspect Descriptions:
Witnesses’ descriptions conflict
Victims:
Jane Doe #1
John Doe #5
Victim Descriptions:
Witnesses’ descriptions conflict.
Rounds fired:
24
Weapons:
9 mm, unregistered
9 mm, unregistered
9 mm, unregistered
9 mm, unregistered
9 mm, unregistered
Witnesses:
Tari Lemke, distance 50 feet
John Halbrook, distance 51 feet
Jacob Allen, distance 51 feet
Alyson Portnoy, distance 124 feet
Steve Portnoy, distance 124 feet
Carol Spinney, distance 150 feet
Dave Spinney, distance 150 feet
Michael Spinney, distance 150 feet
Harold Potts, distance 200 feet
Time:
22:12:05 July 24, 2002
Wounded:
None
Two Households
Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profainers of this neighbor-stainèd steel—
Will they not hear? What ho! You men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issued from your veins!
Will thou not hear the cry of a peasant?
I shall proclaim it unto thee in short:
Take heed. A plague on both your houses.
Distractions
Some unseen force had stirred the wind, creating an echo chamber and tipping the cards in Jarod and Miss Parker’s favor. Jarod’s pursuers were momentarily distracted by the reverberating words of a scuffle on the walkway several feet up the beach, and Miss Parker had the opening to fire several rounds directly at them. A few seconds later, each of the suited men were crumpled on the ground in pain having sustained painful but non-lethal injuries.
Jarod grabbed Miss Parker’s arm and pulled her up quickly.
"Come on."
Chaos
The unexpected source of Jarod and Miss Parker’s good fortune was non other than the rollerblading fairy. Having approached the wrong person at the wrong time, she was soon apprehended by the local beach patrol. As luck would have it, the coastal wind patterns shifted at exactly that moment, creating a percussive draft that carried her argument down the beach approximately fifty feet to the ears of Jarod’s armed pursuers. And in Tokyo a butterfly flapped its wings, subsequently creating a tornado in Tulsa Oklahoma.
Lucky
Jarod quickly shoved Miss Parker into his apartment and shut the door.
"Gee, Jarod. I appreciate your thanks," Miss Parker stated caustically.
"Why are you here?" he asked coldly.
"I guess saving your sorry ass isn’t a good enough reason," she replied coolly. "Forgive me for interrupting your attempted assassination."
"Who sent them?" His voice was dark, sinister. "Lyle?" He advanced towards Miss Parker, continuing coldly. "Was Raines hoping to kill me once and for all? Or is the Triumvirate finally sick of this game?"
Miss Parker gave a violent push to Jarod’s chest when he invaded her space. "They were outside hires from a corporation in Ohio. If Raines and the Triumvirate wanted you dead you’d have a bullet in your head from a long-range sniper," she hissed. "The Centre doesn’t even know you’re here."
Jarod’s eyes narrowed. "How did you find me?"
"Angelo," she replied coolly. "Cousin it spazzed out and came barreling into my office saying you needed help." She pulled a folded piece of printer paper out of her pocket. "He gave me this."
Jarod took the paper from her and read it carefully. "It’s a hit order from a company I worked for in February."
"Another pretend bites boywonder in the ass," Miss Parker sneered. "You’re just lucky I wasn’t busy."
Business
At eleven thirty, more men were dispatched to complete the hit. When they got to the hotel, Jarod’s room was empty. The man at the front desk claimed to have no idea where they went. Unfortunately, John didn’t believe him. The clerk died at eleven thirty-seven with a gunshot wound to the head. Being the new kid, Jimmy, was ill at the sight. John reminded him it wasn’t personal--it was business.
Math
2 old friends/enemies/rivals/adversaries/friends
plus 1 perpetual argument
--------------------------------
1 normal conversation/encounter
2 desires for freedom
plus 2 great costs
--------------------------------
1 continual circle
1 proposition
plus 1 proposition
--------------------------------
1 new conversation/encounter
Daybreak
Around five thirty a.m., coffee fumes begin to waft through the thin spaces surrounding the entrance to the local Starbucks. Businessmen and women greet its aroma graciously as they prepare for the stressful days and long commutes necessary to maintain high paying jobs at professional institutions. College students who have pulled all-nighters suddenly awaken from geography-induced stupors to realize that they have four hours before their assignments are due and desperately need the swift kick a blended latte will provide. Athletes, retirees, and mothers alike awaken to prepare for an early morning jog before the sun comes out and drives away the lingering waves of cool air the night has brought on. Metropolitan buses begin their routes around the city, before sports cars, Harleys and the latest SUVs fill the city streets and freeways. Truck drivers continue their routes across states and countries, silently upholding commerce with little acknowledgment or thanks. Mattress corners glare defiantly from beneath their confines, speaking either of tumultuous nightmares or passionate affairs. Lovers who have spent the night coiled in each other’s arms awake to the sounds of newly-risen birds and a tangle of sheets. Such were the circumstances Jarod and Miss Parker met upon the pleasant realization that morning always followed night, and light could always be born from darkness.
Fin
AN: I hope you enjoyed my mottled tale. Thank you for reading.
