Covid19 Supply and Demand

Today Dave went to the supermarket, gloved and masked. He headed out with a short list of things that we wanted to buy. Shopping trip completed, Dave returned home, stripped down by the front door, marched his clothing to the washing machine, dumped it in, then headed to the bathroom and went right into the shower. Speaking later with Decontaminated Dave, I said: "I noticed you didn't buy any eggs." "No dear, they wanted five dollars a dozen." We have one sentence left here and I am wondering: Should I use it or hoard it?

Successful Trip Through The Maze

You want this in six sentences?
The groundhog has spent days attempting to unravel old passwords, e-mails, various dead-end pathways through underground tunnels, in an attempt to find her way into an abandoned blog.
In the process she came upon an awful lot of e-mail addresses, including one that receives an enormous haul from Groupon Chicago.
The groundhog has never lived in Chicago, so that was surprising.
The groundhog shakes her head; squints her eyes at the unexpected sunlight.
She never expected to find her way through.

The Boy Who Loved Caterpillars

Looking over my shoulder, Hilary remarks, "That reminds me of a story from my Sixth Grade Writers' Club.
Aran Valente was also in the club, and he told us about a summer when he collected fuzzy caterpillars.
I mean, he collected LOTS of them, in cardboard boxes, because he said he thought they'd make nice pets.
He ended up with so many, that from any location in the house, you could hear the sound of them munching on leaves.
Then somehow they all escaped from their boxes, spun cocoons in a bunch of different rooms, and months later the Valentes were still chasing moths out of their house."
Hilary shakes her head and adds, "He's lucky he has the type of parents who would find that kind of funny."

The last to arrive and the last to leave

She monopolizes conversations.
I mean, she rolls right over the whole table, leaving none of the others an opening.
They resort to using sign language for "Pass me the butter?" and she sees what they're doing, and she knows she needs to reign it in.
But the joy of telling a story keeps her going and yes her friends are nodding, yes they are listening, and as they chew their way through lunch, two of them are wiping tears from their eyes.
Afterward, in the parking lot, she apologizes profusely for "doing it again" and looks utterly embarrassed, because this is the same promise she made last time.
Her oldest friend pats her on the back and asks: "Same time, next week?"

Pulling the hermit card

March is swirling down the tubes, or the pipes, or wherever it is that fast-moving ungrasped things get sent.
The tail end of winter, and stir-crazed homo sapiens are renewing social ties.
Hoards of humans, suddenly social, insisting we all come out and play.
Yeah, how about maybe, I just say No!
I don't want to have lunch with a pack of hyenas.
The sun is too bright, and your laughs are too loud.

Birthday Card, Postmarked March 24, 2011

Lawrence Ferlinghetti is ninety-two years old today.
Are you surprised?
Yes, I admit I was totally not expecting that, but hey, it's a kick in the pants, isn't it?
Does it make you feel like maybe it's a good thing to be playing with words, shaping them into sentences, and that maybe that's as good for your health as taking all of your B vitamins?
Happy Birthday, Lawrence!
I hope you woke up this morning, looked in the mirror and grinned, "Happy Birthday, you Living Legend, You!"

U.S. Male

"You care MORE about that mail than the people who mailed it!"
She was going through a stacker of letters – ones which the automated sorting machine had tossed out at the very end of the line, sending them spinning down a chute and into the reject stacker.
She held a black Sharpie marker in her hand, and was using it to cross out incorrect bar codes.
The young man insulting her stood at the end of her machine, watched her for a minute, then shook his head and walked away.
Slamming the envelopes into a mail tray, she looked up and watched the back side of him push a large, heavy cage of mail down the length of the corridor.
Her hand squeezed the marker so hard, its cap flew off.
* * * * * *
"Come on now, Lady, you're holding me up; just give me those trays of mail, so I can go on break!"
"Go on break then, who's stopping you?"
He ripped the baseball cap off his surprising, strawberry blond hair, ran his hand through the thick, tight buzzcut and then suddenly aware of what he was doing, smacked the hat back on his head, and blurted: "I can't go anywhere until I get this cage of mail on the 5:30 truck!"
The two of them glared at each other, and then finally, it burst, and she heard herself yelling, "Go Fuck Yourself!" and realized in one swift instant that she would probably now get fired because the U.S. Postal Service has a zero tolerance policy when it comes to swearing at fellow employees and as her hand flew up to cover her mouth, the young man took a long, hard look at her, probably for the first time ever, threw his head back and laughed.
"Oh my God," he said, when his laughing slowed down and he wiped his eyes.
"Wow!" she replied, suddenly aware that he was not the least bit offended, her job was safe, and something between them had very much changed.