#triggerstarter

[giovannicarosi]

[vincent-brewer-blog]

“Okay, just because you call it “stealing” doesn’t mean it actually is “stealing”. I was just borrowing your wallet. Because I wanted to see the brand of it. It’s very nice by the way.”

[taterichard-blog]

“Here’s a fun idea,” the politician rose from his chair, crossing the room to stand directly opposite the figure who now occupied his doorway, “before you enter a room, you may want to try knocking. One hand against the wood, tap your knuckles a few times, and then wait for a response.  It’s really not that bloody hard and it’s so impolite to do anything but.”

[chuck-howarth-blog-blog]

He had a bench all to himself, and an umbrella pinned to the slats of the back with his shoulder-blades. It was raining, he was dry enough, his sandwich was appropriately damp with sauce and not with rain water, and he could hear nothing but tires splashing through puddles, rain falling through storm drains, and an unearthly muffled quiet to the somewhat subdued but not silenced hubbub of the city.

A person in a raincoat with hunched shoulders, stopped nearby him and glanced around, then walked towards his bench. He tilted his head towards his umbrella, swallowing a bite of his sandwich. “You’re welcome to share my umbrella,” he offered. It was an old one, designed to fold into a long staff with a pointed tip, and easily would shield two from the city-tinged rain-drops.

[chuck-howarth-blog-blog]

Some days, Chuck would think about a vacation over ten times over the course of his work hours. He’d drift off while eating lunch, and end up with his mug of coffee half-way to his lips for minutes at a time, imagining himself in the middle of nowhere Scotland with a walking stick and a dog he’d conjured out of mind-wisps and fancy. In his imaginings, there’d be no one around for many miles, and the fog would be wound around his neck like a thick gray scarf.

He had booked a train ticket and applied for vacation time, once. There’d been a vicious double-murder of a politician and her husband while he was packing his wellingtons.

Today was one of those bad days. He’d racked up five instances of ‘God, I need a vacation’ already, and he’d lost count of the cups of coffee he’d had.

He was heading out to lunch, which he had decided to take out in the park as far away from other people as possible, when an officer in charge of bookings caught his elbow. “Sir, there’s someone here who insists that they talk to you.”

“What? Now?”

The officer nodded. “Something about,” he lowered his voice. “the Organization.”

He sighed and glanced at his watch. “Fine. Lead me to them.”

[anabelking]

It was nearly the brink of dawn and Anabel hadn’t slept since the night before-- saying she was tired would be an understatement. As she slowly made her way back home from the last parking lot that she scanned for clients, she studied the street before her. Empty. It wasn’t common for Anabel to be the only one roaming the street at these hours so the woman was genuinely surprised. She scuffed and dragged her feet along the pathway, looking and listening for any other sign of life. It was moments later when she turned the corner and noticed a body behind her through the glass of the window. It was then when she picked up on the stranger’s footsteps and increasingly labored breath. 

Irritated, anxious and sleep deprived, Anabel had had enough. Without a slight bit of hesitation, she quickly turned, looking over her shoulder. “Sorry if I’m the one over stepping boundaries, but do you usually walk this close to others? I can practically feel you breathing down my neck.”

[vincent-brewer-blog]

"So here is that watch you wanted...nice gold finishing on it, by the way. Now, you either owe me a hundred cookies or a really expensive bottle of vodka. Better yet, you can actually pay me the full amount you promised me on time—your choice."

[georgiadahl]

The air was muggy and the sun was shining down over everything it could, boring heat into the ground. However, Georgia was lucky enough to have retained a hold on the bench under the big willow tree in her favourite park for the time being. It was a park few visited, and you could tell. There were trees all around, the playground had a rusting slide with ivy curling up it, as well as squeaking, dejected swings - a pair of them. Every day she had off from work during the summer months she liked to travel here to read. Currently she was reading Charles Dickens’ Our Mutual Friend curled up contently with her travel mug full of green tea in hand. 

Then her heart slowly started to pace a bit faster, the air that was flowing seemed to flow differently, and her hair raised the smallest bit. She sat up and put her book away, turning to face the person who had just interrupted her reading time as well as the vibe that her park always gave off.