The man was of average height, of slight build, brown hair, there was absolutely nothing remarkable about him that would make anyone pay any special attention to him. Nonetheless, he looked around nervously before entering the White Horse Pub. This was his first job as a hit man and he wanted to be extra careful.

His instructions were to enter the pub, have a Guinness and wait. Someone wearing a blue suit with a gold lapel pin would meet him. While he waited, he surveyed the walls, which were white boards that people from everyone had signed or left notes. Silly twits, he thought.

Two hours and three Guinnesses later, he decided he had been had and gave up.  If he had any idea who had called him he would pay them a visit. However, he would just have to place his ad again and see if someone else would initiate him into the world of hit men.

As he stepped onto the street, he felt steel bracelets clasp his wrists. With surprise, he looked at the policemen. Realization dawned as one of the cops grinned and said “Gotcha!”

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction.  Special thanks to A Mixed Bag for the photo prompt.


SoCS – Hot, Hot, Hot

“Something wicked this way comes.

Actually, it’s already here. I live on the coast of SE Texas and normally our May temps are in the upper 80s, but this year they stayed in the pleasant range of the upper 70s. We didn’t even have our usual heavy swarms of June bugs and rice bugs.

Summer solstice came and went and our temps were finally in the upper 80s. We were, foolishly, beginning to think that we were going to have a mild summer. Then July arrived with a furnace. Our mean temps are in the 90s, but with the humidity the heat index is 102-104. Heaven help us when August and September arrive. I can only pray that this will not be a year with a major hurricane.

Written for SoCS, hosted by Linda G Hill

Make Love, Not Hate

Revolution_JFKI grew up in an era when mothers didn’t have to worry about their children playing outside, even after dark. When neighbors gathered together for block parties. When nobody worried over much about leaving a door unlocked, whether to their home or car. When you could sit on your porch without having to worry about a drive-by shooting. I’m not saying it was idyllic, but things were simpler.

Although I missed the civil rights movement and most of the hippie era, I’ve witnessed the gradual disintegration of that lifestyle. And last week’s violence has left me badly shaken. It’s taken me several days to write this post, though, because I didn’t want to write in the heat of the moment as so many have. So I did some research in the hopes of  gaining a better understanding of events, particularly over the last decade.



We’re All the Same. People are People.

This blogger makes some valid points about how we judge people. Her description of her parents brought back memories of mine.



It’s not just some white Americans who are phobic and/or racist. Much of the world feels the same way about “their own.” It’s easy to fall into complacency, of sorts, or put on blinders, when confronted with people not like ourselves. Many years ago, while in the Peace Corps, I stopped by a remote stream in Sierra Leone way out in the bush, a perfect stop to wash the dirt off my face, and when I got down there it turned out there was a group of kids playing in the water. When they looked up and saw me, they all threw their arms over their heads and ran SCREAMING into the bush. They had never seen a white person. Later I was told they thought I was “Mommy Water,” the albino witch who lives in streams and rivers, and would come to drown them.

Some of us get afraid.

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