20
Oct
Frankie, nonplussed, puts his jacket and sunglasses back on, spits in the dirt, and opens the club door. Several angry riders follow a short distance behind.
“Tough guys, heh, pff.”
Lilly’s is pretty busy tonight. She has all her girls up and dancing for eager clientele. The lights and music are pounding and mesmerizing. The money is flowing as fast as the drinks.
Frankie stands still a moment to take in the view. He knows there is an angry mob behind him, but he doesn’t care. He owns them tonight. He owns everyone.
The Minotaur held reign over the people of Crete for decades.
Frankie is rushed from behind. Many patrons and a few employees seek cover.
Even with all their might, the man-bull would not go down.
A pitched battle, if a bit lopsided in numbers, takes place in the middle of the club. Chairs fly, tables overturn, men fall with their faces bloody.
A kick to a head.
A punch to a nose.
A chair smashed over a head and back.
Seven men are down and bloody. Frankie stands alone in the center of ground zero, his fists bared. He is nearly unscratched, breathing hard.
The Minotaur was a plague to the people of Crete.
No one in the room makes a move to stop Frankie. But one woman, from the back of the club, makes a single step towards the center.
It seems that the women of Crete had no trouble appeasing the God.
Slowly, deliberately, a pair of stiletto heeled shoes carefully navigates the strewn about chairs and bodies of broken men and bottles. She stops inches from the victor. Frankie turns and looks.
He is frozen by what he sees.
-MRC
2
Oct
William always enjoyed eating breakfast at the shelter. Because everyone assumed he wasn’t listening to anyone or that he wouldn’t repeat anything he heard, the homeless men would talk about anything and everything. William knew a LOT about the goings on witnessed by these men. Nothing criminal really, just interesting. Where to find the best recyclables, free food or clothes, that sort of thing. This morning started out like most mornings, the men stumbled in, his Mom made the rounds talking with anyone new to the shelter, the cooks making their usual oatmeal. He liked the oatmeal, especially with maple syrup. He looked around the table for the syrup and couldn’t find it, so he got up and went to look at other tables. At that very moment a young woman walked in with his mother. It was odd because the woman was dressed in sweats and stocking feet and she was carrying a pair of in-line skates. Was she homeless too? He would have to investigate. She was certainly pretty AND she had the maple syrup.
-MRC