bud and the mugger

by nick nelson

bud davis had worked late, and was walking home to his lonely room through the dark streets of the great city. suddenly a man jumped out of an alley and brandished a pistol at him. the man looked vaguely familiar to bud, but he could not place him, even though the man was not wearing a mask or a handkerchief over his face. maybe, bud thought, he looks like somebody on tv. the man was, however, wearing a black chicago white sox baseball cap pulled down somewhat low over his eyes. what do you want from me? bud asked. i do not carry any money. i have a credit card, but it has been canceled. who said anything about money or credit cards, the man with the black white sox replied. i have other business with you. and what might that business be? bud asked. i don’t like your looks. what is wrong with my looks? your nose is not round enough. please don’t shoot me because my nose isn’t round enough. all right, i will shoot because you are fat. please don’t shoot me because i am fat. i’m trying. i lost twenty pounds in the last two months. all right, i will shoot you because your mother wore army boots. but my mother was never in the army. maybe she found them thrown out in the street, on a rainy day in seacausus, new jersey. all right then, i see that you are bound and determined to shoot me no matter what i say. now you begin to understand. can i ask you one question before you shoot me? go for it. why does a team calling itself the white sox have a black baseball cap? what kind of idiot are you, and what kind of a question is that, to ask when you stand on the brink of eternity? just then officer o’hara came along, twirling his nightstick. sure now, by all the saints in heaven, what’s all this bejabber? officer o’hara asked. and you, aren’t you little mikey o’donnell, who used to steal bananas from mister morelli’s grocery store? i never stole bananas, the mugger replied with a frown, only apples. why don’t you put that pistol away, mikey, before you hurt somebody with it? i was just showing it to my friend. oh, you were just showing it to your friend? why don’t you give it to me, and i will show it to my friend down at the station. oh, all right. officer o'hara took possession of the pistol and went on his way, twirling his nightstick. i wonder how much he will sell it for, mikey said. hard to say, bud replied. mikey muttered something under his breath. what did you say? bud asked. nothing. in that case i bid you good night.

something different

by nick nelson

so, what are we going to do tonight? i thought we’d do the usual, fuck with some guys, fuck some broads. maybe fuck somebody up good. i thought maybe we could do something a little different. like what? i thought maybe we could go the opera, or the symphony, something like that. very funny, vinnie. that’s really funny. no, i’m serious. hear mr out. it’s about diversification. diversity! are you shitting me? don’t say that word around me. not diversity, diversification. it’s a different thing. this is the modern age, right, the twenty-first century? i guess. i was reading this book and it says to survive in the modern age you can’t just be one thing, or the same thing all the time. because then you become predictable and everybody that’s chasing you can catch you from behind and drag you down. so who’s chasing us? everybody! that’s the point, the whole modern world is chasing you faster and faster every day. so what would you suggest? listen. first off, we can’t be vinnie and tony and joey all the time. we should be jeffrey and dylan and adam some of the time, or really go for it and be chester and lance and derek. i don’t know. come on, let’s give it a try. it won’t hurt to give it a try. * later that night. chester and lance and derek arrive at the symphony. the first thing they see, standing outside. the entrance, are three women. not the youngest women, or the thinnest women, but women. and they look like they are waiting for something. they are not actually wearing mink coats or wearing buckets of diamonds, or holding lorgnettes. but to chester and lance and derek they look like they are. good evening, ladies, chester addresses them. good evening to you, one of the ladies answers him. i’m chester, and these are my friends lance and derek. i am cynthia wallford-thornton, and this is my cousin alicia cosgrove-benson, and this is the countess of denworth, here on a visit. we are pleased to meet you. are you gentlemen fond of charles ives? you must be , if you are here tonight. charles is o k, but do you know what we really like? no, what? we like to have a good time. why, so do we! you know, i have a feeling old charles might not be on his game tonight. that could very well be. and in any case, we have experienced hm so many times before. i think we are moving in the same direction here. indeed. there is a cab over there , why don’t you see if he is engaged.? i will do that. do you think we can all squeeze in to it? why not? it sounds like a good way to start having a good time. the cab was a large one, and it took off with the three gentlemen sitting on the laps of the three ladies. chester thought the driver looked familiar. it was jerry the squid, from bayonne! but if jerry recognized chester and derek and lance he did not say so. jerry guided the cab expertly through the heavy traffic, heading uptown. a light rain began to fall.

tricks

by nick nelson

“i am sorry to have discovered your true nature, philip, but at least i have the satisfaction , such as it is, of discovering it in time to prevent a complete disaster for myself and my distinguished lineage. i hope you will not make things difficult by any pathetic attempt to excuse yourself.” “no, jessica, i know when the game is up. i bid you farewell, and will not trouble you, or your solicitors, again.” “thank you. if you will, please leave by the french window behind you. i would not have you being seen by any of the guests, who might ask awkward questions. when you have crossed the lawn and passed the gazebo, you will find a path which will lead you to the king’s highway, and from there you can walk to the town, or across the moors, whichever you prefer.” philip bowed, and left by the french window, as instructed. it was a calm night, with a full moon. philip walked across the lawn, which did not seem quite so broad as he remembered it, and quickly came to the highway. what now? he had staked everything on marrying jessica and her fortune, and had lost. all his old pals would either have forgotten him, or felt that he had betrayed them. he had not gone ten yards down the road before he came to a tree. the tree had a single long limb about twenty feet from the ground and the limb had a rope wth an expertly knotted noose hanging from it. the noose was about ten feet from the ground. a footstool had been thoughtfully placed under the noose. all this was clearly visible in the bright moonlight. philip considered the tree, the rope, the noose, the footstool, and the moon. just then he saw a light on the moor. it seemed to be from a small fire. philip dedided to approach the fire, and struck across the moor. he found what was indeed a small fire, with a whitehaired tramp, with a small pipe in his mouth, seated in front of it. a battered knapsack lat at his feet. a little dog was seated beside the tramp. it gave a perfunctory little bark at philip, but dd not move. “does that dog do tricks?” philip asked the tramp. “it will do such tricks as it can be taught,” the tramp replied, without taking the pipe from his mouth. “how much do you want for him?” philip asked. “five shillings.” philip happened to have ten shillings in his pocket. he handed five of them to the tramp, and the dog, who seemed to understand what was being transacted, got up and followed philip back to the road. if philip had looked back, which he did not, he would have seen that the tramp had been transformed into a beautiful darkhaired young woman, wearing a red ballroom dress with puffed sleeves. as the philip and the dog reached the highway, the young woman took a small ebony-backed hand mirror out of the knapsack. philip and the dog headed to the town. “what is your name?” philip asked the dog. “a dog who can do good tricks needs a good name.” * jessica married lord f________, and they lived together for forty years, without scandal or incident.

the stranger

by nick nelson

he got off the train at midnight. the station was deserted - completely deserted. the ticket window was closed, and so was the tiny news and candy stand. and where was the man with the brown briefcase? the sign above the station was weatherbeaten and hard to read. he squinted up at it in the darkness. the first letter was clearly a “w”. wilsonville! and he was supposed to have gotten off at thomasville, where he was to meet the man with the brown briefcase! oh no! he had failed again. it was the story of his life - he was a stranger on this earth. it had begun on his first day of school, when his stepfather had dropped him off at the crossroad and told him to walk down the road to his right. he had walked for miles before a police car pulled over and asked him where he was going. the policeperson driving, a very nice lady, explained that the school was in the other direction. she turned around and drove him back to the school but of course he was not nearly on time. he had never forgotten the looks of headshaking contempt her partner, a heavy greyhaired man, had given him the whole ride back. and now here he was again. hopelessly, hopelessly late. he had no way he could try to contact the man with the brown briefcase as he had been told in no uncertain terms not to carry a phone with him as it could be used by the other side to track him. even if he could somehow find a phone, he had not been given a phone number for the man with the brown briefcase. he started walking down the tracks. a silvery moon shone down on him.

philip and daisy

by nick nelson

philip was looking out the window. his mom, gladys, was sitting on the sofa reading a three week old issue of good housekeeping magazine. what are you doing, philip? gladys asked. looking out the window, philip relied. why don’t you go for a walk? a walk to where? i do not like to go for walks unless i have an actual destination. why don’t you go over to daisy johnson’s house and ask her to marry you? she seems like a nice girl. all right, philip said. philip walked over to daisy johnson’s house. it was a nice day, not too hot or cold, and without a cloud in the sky. philip rang the bell at daisy’s and a minute later daisy came to the door. what do you want? she asked philip, in a no nonsense voice. will you marry me? philip asked. no, i don’t think so, she answered. and daisy closed the door in philip’s face. the weather on philip’s walk back to his own house was quite as pleasant as his walk to daisy’s had been. at least i got some exercise, philip thought. and i had a purpose in my walk, and did not just “go for a walk”, like some people. but the story did not end there. daisy reported philip’s visit to the authorities, and the next day philip was arrested for attempting to recruit daisy to a secret cell of conspirators plotting against the government. gladys was also arrested as an accomplice to philip’s crime. philip was sentenced to twenty years hard labor, and gladys, in consideration to her advanced age, to ten. gladys did not live to complete her sentence. when philip was in the seventeenth year of his sentence, he received a letter - the first he had received since the death of gladys nine years previously. he hoped it was from daisy johnson, saying that she was retracting the charges against him and was wiling to testify on his behalf at a retrial. but it was not. in fact the letter was not even intended for him, but for another prisoner with the same name as himself, and he had received it by mistake. considering that his identification number in no way resembled the other man’s, the mistake was inexcusable.

joe and bill and marcy

by nick nelson

joe bink and bill frup were best friends. joe was a complete asshole. bill was a great guy. people wondered why they were friends. if someone asked joe why bill was his friend, instead of giving his usual sarcastic asshole answer, he would look at the ground and mumble, well, that’s hard to say. and if someone asked bill why joe was his friend, instead of looking the questioner in the eye and answering in his usual straight-shooting way, he would look off into space and say, you know, that’s a good question. joe and bill fell in love with the same girl. her name was marcy smith and she worked at the convenience store attached to the gas station. marcy did not return the interest of either joe or bill. people, including her best friend shirley lemay, asked her why. because they are a couple of assholes, marcy would reply. but bill is a great guy, they would say. no, he is just as much of an asshole as joe, marcy insisted. and then people would think about it and say, you know, you are right, bill is just as much of an asshole as joe. after that people stopped paying much attention to either joe or bill. but they remained good friends and went to the movies together and played pinball at larry’s out on route ten. sometimes they could be seen at softball games, sitting together apart from the crowd, and sharing a quart bottle of beer. and they watched television together in joe’s lonely room and played tonk and casino and cribbage with the old cribbage board bill’s father had given him for his ninth birthday.

parker and esther

by nick nelson

parker wilson johnson was the center of the universe. everybody in the world either loved or hated him. when and if he died and was completely forgotten, the universe would perish with him. he knew this. one day he was seated at the counter of a small diner across the street from a busy bus terminal, working on his favorite meal of scrambled eggs, sausages, and hash browns, with lots of ketchup. a young woman named esther morris came into the diner. she was wearing a nice clean white dress because she was planning to get married at city hall during her lunch hour, to ralph barber, a young man she had met at a dance a week before. the only unoccupied seat at the counter was the one to the right of parker wilson johnson, hunched over his plate of ketchup soaked food. esther morris did not care much for the sight of parker, but she wanted a cup of tea to calm her nerves, so she sat down on the empty stool. just as she did, parker decided he wanted a little more ketchup on his plate. the bottle of ketchup provided for him was almost empty, and when it did not provide the amount he desired, he gave the bottom of it a good whack. the bottle happened to be pointed in esther’s direction, and a large blob of thick ketchup was ejected from it and landed on esther’s clean white dress. harsh words were exchanged. parker was a regular customer and esther was not , so earl, the counterman, took parker’s side a bit more than a strictly objective attitude might have warranted. in the end, no blows were exchanged, and no authorities summoned. parker has passed away. esther remembers the incident very well. she is the now only living person who remembers parker, or anything he ever said or did.

jub and jug

by nick nelson

once upon a time there lived a peasant named jub. he grew up in a valley filled with apple trees, owned by a great lord named jarg. jub was expected to live the life of his ancestors, pruning apple trees, picking apples, and digging ditches to irrigate the apple trees. but he decided he did not wish to spend his life in this manner, so he said goodbye to his kinfolk and took to the king’s highway to seek his fortune in the great world. jub walked down the highway with a song in his heart under a blue sky filled with fleecy white clouds and happily singing birds. but he did not go more than a few miles before he was captured by a gang of bandits who took him prisoner and sold him as a slave to another great lord, named jarl. jarl owned coal and diamond mines, and a great forest of walnut trees. jub would spend the rest of life digging in jarl’s coal mines nine months of the year, and digging ditches to irrigate jarl’s walnut trees the other three months. jub had a younger brother named jug, who, in his turn, decided to take to the highway. jug quickly encountered the same group of bandits who had captured jub. but as jug was a strong strapping youth and they liked his looks, the bandits invited jug to join them. jug spent the remainder of his days with the bandits, murdering and robbing and capturing unwary travelers and selling them to great lords like jarg and jarl. the lord jarl fell in love with a beautiful maiden named jacinta. he loved her dearly. but one day the gods decided to take jacinta from him, and she fell sick and died. jarl knew that he must have offended the gods, and he was stricken with remorse and decided to make a great sacrifice. he had his soldiers round up a hundred bandits and crucified them. jug was one of the bandits. and then jarl had a great bonfire prepared and cast three hundred slaves into it, including jub. all this happened many years ago. the coal mines, the diamond mines, and the apple trees are all gone, but a few of the walnut trees remain by the side of the highway, under the blue sky, filled with fleecy white clouds and happily singing birds.

existence

by nick nelson

edward evans did not get much mail, not even junk mail. but one day he received a letter with the return address of “department of existence.” he opened it. it contained a single sheet of neatly folded paper, with the letterhead of the department of existence, and a return envelope marked “postage will be paid by recipient.” the single sheet read: please justify your existence in twenty-five words or less. and added in bolder type: failure to comply will result in consequences. below that were several blank lined spaces for the twenty-five words or less. edward wrote: i don’t cause any trouble. i try not to get in anybody’s way. i like all persons. he added them up and there were seventeen words. so he added: thank you very much. have a nice day. that made twenty-four words, so he had one to spare. he went to the post office and handed the letter to a clerk. * what did you think of edward’s response? on a scale of zero (hopeless) to ten (perfect) how would you rate it? do you think you could have done better?