(World Trade Center, Photo by Joe)

Here are my STORIES and info on my Novels

(Central Park and 5th Ave. – Photos by Joe)

Barely fifteen minutes after I left the ghost of Albert Einstein, knowing not to say his name or ruminate over the encounter, I was fooled into giving his exact whereabouts. Not a second later, the demon who tricked me, raced up the 5th Avenue sidewalk next to Central Park en route to the famed professor. Benny and I sprinted after him.

The demon was tall and seemed paper-thin with a head that reminded me of a tulip bud. Its scrawny limbs were sheathed in a skin tight fabric. I had first seen the being along with a stout creature, down in the Seaport. The two have a history of human abduction.

The demon surged forth with skittish movements. It seemed like we chased a snapping flag through the dusky haze. Some pedestrians batted their eyes at the passing evil. None saw it clearly, save a young woman who walked alone. From inside the hood of her sweatshirt, her eyes grew big, and she raised a hand. To put her at ease, when we chugged by I called out, “Ghost crushers!” I also gave a forearm salute, but didn’t look at her. Though I did see the demon’s head bob in our direction; it gave me an idea. Because there was no way we would get to Einstein first.

Lord knows what the evil thing would do to the beneficent ghost. Probably suck all his goodness out of our world. My only option was to somehow throw the demon off the path to the professor.

I cut to my left, climbed over the Central Park wall, and hit my feet running. I stuck my fingers in my mouth and whistled across the grain of all whistles, imagining that I could infuse discord into the sweet yawn of NYC’s soul.

Since the demon had relied on me to tell him where the professor was, I hoped the beast would think I knew something else that he didn’t—and follow. If my plan failed, I thought maybe the discordant whistle would warn Einstein, though I had the feeling he was the sort to get run over by a wailing fire truck.

Benny, who is pretty smart for an old homeless man, vaulted over the wall seconds after I whistled. “Good idea,” he cried, as he easily passed me. His long, tanned face showed no sign of being winded. “Just don’t look back.”

(Central Park road)

We ran down a paved path into the Central Park Zoo. A hill rose to our right and empty cages were to our left. I was out of steam and slowed to a jog.

The demon had taken the bait. He sprinted along the crest of the hill. In seconds he was out of sight.

I stopped. Benny stopped, too. I dropped my hands to my knees. The old clairvoyant looked up and back in Einstein’s direction, though he didn’t turn. “He’s aware of the demon,” he said with an easy smile. “That was quick thinking.”

“What did the demon want with him?” I said, making sure not to mention Einstein’s name.

“The professor’s apparition represents a stroke of sweet serenity in this realm–or our field of energy,” Benny said. “While his mere presence is a very complex thing, I believe the demon wanted something from it. Possibly to learn how to navigate between dimensions, but that’s a guess.” He raised his brows. “All I can be certain of is that demons always want something. Yet their desire can never be satiated.”

“Definitely not this time,” I said with a laugh, and thought how easy it had been to fool the stupid thing.

“Yes, he’s safe. Or should I say, it’s safe,” Benny said and also laughed.

I smiled with relief and looked up. In seeming answer to our levity, the demon reappeared. He stood far off and up high on an outcropping of fossilized rocks. Street lights illuminated the outline of the demon’s frame. I tightened my gaze. To his left I spotted the shorter, much wider creature who I had also seen another time down by the Seaport. My skin bristled. I turned like I was trying to ignore a big, stray dog. “Time to go,” I said under my breath.

Benny and I walked up toward a tree-lined 5th Avenue. I wanted to run, but thought it would be a show of fear. My pace became brisk.

Something inside me knew the moment wasn’t over, as if I could feel an invisible touch. Sure enough, a voice came to me. It was that of the stout demon, whose voice I had heard before. Over the span, he managed to sweetly whisper, “To really know, you must have blood on your hands.”

Benny looked at me. “Keep walking, and just ignore it,” he said.

There came a scratching sound, followed by a repetitive thud. The sounds seemed to emanate from an airtight space.

“Do you want life?” the stout demon said, though its tone had changed. I didn’t think its voice was directed at me.

I found myself waiting for a reply.

A full moment later, in my head sounded a simple string of words. I innocently repeated them for Benny. “‘I am the blood, come to me.’”

The old man slapped a hand across his mouth. Such a look of fear came over him that I knew I had really screwed up.

A set of green eyes seemed to snap open right in front of me and there came a sickly gasp. It was as if the person or thing hadn’t had a breath in untold ages.

—  

Here are all the posts in this series: Episode Thirty-One – August 2010

Paranormal Embrace

To See The Wizard

The Ghost of Albert Einstein

I Am The Blood

Here are my STORIES and info on my Novels

(Snapshot of The Newtown Pentacle)

The Newtown Pentacle is a really cool blog that you must check out and bookmark. At first glance it may seem to be just another photo blog, but it’s much more than that thanks to some pretty insightful and informative, if not downright funny commentary by the proprietor, Mitch Waxman.

Click here to visit The Newtown Pentacle 

Here are my STORIES and info on my Novels

(Albert Einstein)

The way Benny had explained it to me, ghosts, especially those of famous people are very rarely the person’s actual spirit. They are particles and light animated by the power of common dreams.

~

The ghost of Albert Einstein sat up the street on a bench outside the Central Park wall. Hardly fifteen minutes had passed since the renowned professor took a moment from his undying pursuit of the theory of everything to speak with me. We had a real nice chat, yet given what happened afterwards, it seems that he had let me into his orderly universe and I introduced chaos.

As I remember it, I had passed the bench where Einstein sat and had yet to see any sign of a ghost. The professor should have let me walk on by . . .

Twilight had settled over the park. From the sidewalk that runs along 5th Avenue, I spotted a puff of white on a park path. It looked to be more than 100 feet away. I scrunched my eyes and wondered if it was an apparition. I lowered my gaze. The vague outline of a man materialized on the bench just behind me. He was hunched a bit. A closer looked revealed the puff of white was actually his hair.

The ghost’s eyes were chinked and there was a light in them that bordered both fascination and discovery. He had the sweetest expression. It occurred to me that he was enjoying the spooky nature of the gloaming hour. Many people go out of their way to pass by Central Park during that hour. Most are not conscious that there is a paranormal connection.

When I realized it was Einstein on the bench, a rush of verve and nervousness ran through me. I stepped back. I had wanted to give him space, and not say a word.

There was a tranquil silence about the professor that I didn’t want to break.

(Central Park/5th Ave sidewalk – Photo by Joe)

My eyes flashed to the shadows that drifted over the outskirts of the park. Some shadows were sleek, others were hazy. Without looking at the professor, it occurred to me that we both were in awe of our surroundings. “It’s nice, huh,” I uttered mostly to myself, and was surprised when his gentle eyes lighted on me.

“Very much so,” Einstein said.

“You’re still working, right?” I said as my gaze traced his airy figure.

“Still, yes.”

“On what?” I asked, tentatively.

“A single vision–” he began, his soft timber giving indication of a German accent.

I leaned closer and raised my brows.

“–one formula that will explain everything.”

“Everything?”

“From the large gravitational forces of the planets–to the smallest atomic forces,” he said, and looked up to the canopy of trees that hung over our heads out to the middle of the street. “A theory of everything.”

“You think you’ll find it here, in NY,” I said without thought.

His eyes twinkled as he seemed to consider what I had said.

“Many disparate forces are at work in this city,” I said, breathlessly. ”And they come together, maybe not as one but close to it.” I didn’t know if I expressed myself clearly, though was glad when he chuckled.

“Yes,” he said.

I was going to let him mull it over, yet he tilted his head and focused fully upon me. I felt impelled to say more. “You may be able to feel it. There’s a force, there’s real energy, there is a soul,” I said and pointed haphazardly like I was dancing. My leg shook a little, but only because I was nervous.

The professor cocked his head.

“That’s why you’re in NYC, right?” I said, unable to contain a daft smile.

“So many reasons, but yes, my search must have brought me here for a purpose,” he said and his eyes grew distant.

I wondered if I should also mention the people, art, architecture, and a whole host of other things that influence the flow of energy in NY. But it hit me that Einstein would know better than me all the forces at work here.

I lingered a minute or two more. The professor seemed so deep in thought that I decided to leave him be.

On my way back down 5th, I had a huge smile. What I wouldn’t give to relieve the next few moments, because I wound up giving Einstein’s whereabouts to a demon, who then shot off in his direction . . .

—

Here are all the posts in this series: Episode Thirty-One – August 2010

Paranormal Embrace

To See The Wizard

The Ghost of Albert Einstein

I Am The Blood

—

*Theory of everything from Wikipedia

Here are my STORIES and info on my Novels

(The Ego And The ID by Franz West - Photos by Joe)

“Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.”        

Albert Einstein 

~

The door to the paranormal is wedged open upon my foot. To move away would be to lose the foot . . .

Days ago on the cobbled corner of South Street and Peck Slip by The Paris Café, my friends and I had watched in horror as a soldier who is said to have been abducted by demons during the Battle of Brooklyn was annihilated by one of his captors. I wrote about the killing in the conclusion of the previous episode titled: See The Light. 

Afraid of a fate similar to the soldier’s, last Thursday afternoon I went in search of Benny, “the cigar store Indian.” I wanted to let him know that I was open to his guidance.

Benny’s an old homeless man with a beguiling smile and clairvoyant powers. A believer in reincarnation, his own to be sure, he says that he was one of the Lenni Lenape Indians on the shore the day that Henry Hudson sailed into what would become NY Harbor.

I’ve sensed for some time that the cigar store Indian sees me as his protégé, and that he would like for me to more readily accept the paranormal.

Benny may sound like an interesting sort, but I have to be in the mood for him. He regularly pops up as I make my way home from my miserable demolition job. Where after a day spent in a cloud of dust and debris, my ears ringing with Spanish music and head filled with disparaging thoughts about my lack-luster future, I find no reprieve in his stories or observations. I want only for cold beer, not for someone to point out paranormal crap that will haunt me in and out of sleep.

On Thursday, I had ambled through Benny’s stomping grounds: the Seaport, Union Square, and Central Park. It was hot and my mind was rife with thoughts. On my way, I slugged down some cold beers at the deli’s where I found them on ice.

It was well after 7 pm when I spotted Benny by the corner of Central Park South(W59th St.) and 5th Avenue. That corner is the gateway to Central Park called Grand Army Plaza–not to be confused with the G.A.P. in Brooklyn.

To my left was the Plaza Hotel and behind me on the right was FAO Schwartz toy store that everyone knows from the movie Big with Tom Hanks.

It was humid as heck and Benny wore a long coat. It was so homeless of him.

(Grand Army Plaza, Central Park)

Though the cigar store Indian didn’t immediately look in my direction, the light in his eyes indicated he had become aware of my presence. I waited until he passed a full garbage can with a sideways glance, and got a safe distance before I approached him. Benny loves to pick through trash, and I didn’t want him to be sidetracked while we talked.

He remained silent for a moment. His eyes drifted to various points in the lush green park. His tanned face and head were covered in two-day stubble. I lighted on his bushy black eyebrows. That was a feature I surely hadn’t noticed in the past.

I took a closer look at him. His eyes were hazel, though in the past they’ve also been brown and blue. Benny’s not your average indigent. Facial changes aside, he’s always kept himself fairly clean. Even that evening, the coat and slacks he wore were both faded though clean and not tattered. They looked like he just plucked them out of a good will bin.

Given Benny’s air of mystery (eh-hem), it’s hard to fully trust him.

“You smell like Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup,” I called out to him with a laugh, which isn’t so bad for a homeless man. “Take off the jacket, it’s freaking hot as hell!”

He laughed with a twinkle in his eye that lighted generously upon me. I focused on the wide space between his yellow teeth. The bastard was happy! He effervesced. It made his smile more than palatable.

“You know about what happened the other day to us at the Seaport,” I said, and watched him blink in the affirmative. Benny has his ways of knowing about certain things, and I didn’t question him.

For a time, he stared at me and gave a closed-mouth smile. He seemed a bit daft. It made it even harder to admit a need for his tutelage.

“I’ve finally concluded that there is no where for me to turn to now,” I said matter-of-factly. ”There is no escape from the supernatural.” The next few words came out in a guttural crackle. “It’s time I learn.”

Benny’s clear, confident gaze fixed deep into Central Park. “Turn to the good,” he said, wistfully as his eyes brightened. ”You need to know there is more good out there than evil. The good can show you paranormal wonder. It can protect you.”

I said nothing, intrigued by Benny’s calm, cool silence. In the future, I needed to learn how to curb my emotions and emulate him. Such control would surely ease the personal, professional, and paranormal aspects of my life.

The cigar store Indian lifted his compact brown hand in the direction of 5th Ave. that ran for *2.5 miles between the park and some of the most luxurious and stately buildings to be found in NYC, if not the entire world. “Up that way is someone truly special. Go and see if he will speak with you.” Benny lifted his chin. “He is sitting on one of the benches aside the park wall.”

About ten or so blocks up I saw a disturbance in the air where the trees dipped low over the street. It looked like a gray cloud infested with bugs. I guessed it was where the man sat.

(General William Tecumseh Sherman Statue at Grand Army Plaza)

“Open your heart and he will embrace you,” Benny said, his cadence and even choice of words unlike any of the other times we had spoken in the past. It was like he was “reaching” deeper into me . . .

“Let your emotions rule the moment,” the cigar store Indian continued, “and the evil that tracks him will color your aura, and he will not show his face.”

“There’s no easy way, only calm,” I said softly.

“Evil clings to thoughts, good and bad,” Benny said in a low voice, as if he was trying like a hypnotist to get into my head. ”Close your mind and open your heart. Good finds the heart.”

I stared through what seemed a maze of trees lining the 5th Ave. side of the park and thought how in all the time that I’ve known the cigar store Indian–for some strange reason the duration of which escapes me even now–it seemed like the first time he had been somber and serious with me. It must have reflected my acquiescence, which was all he would get from me. (For the record: I never asked Benny to be my teacher, though he is now, I guess.)

I started off up 5th Avenue, wishing I had another cold one.

—  

Here are all the posts in this series: Episode Thirty-One – August 2010

Paranormal Embrace

To See The Wizard

The Ghost of Albert Einstein

I Am The Blood

–

*Central Park perimeter = 6 miles (2.5 miles up and down the avenues and .5 miles across Central Park North and South) – Source www.CentralPark.com

Here are my STORIES and info on my Novels

(Snapshot of TheShadowlands.net’s Haunted NY page)

TheShadowlands.net has a load of information and resources for people interested in the paranormal. Online since 1994, they have pages that document haunted places throughout the world. They also have ghost stories, many great articles, photos, a forum, and a whole lot more.

<< Click here to visit their Haunted NY page — > Theshadowlands.net  >>

Here are my STORIES and NYC PHOTOS

(St. Andrew’s Cemetery in Richmondtown, Staten Island – Photo by Joe)

Lately I’ve been thinking about making some changes in the direction of Bald Punk. The stories section will continue unabated. The Photos and Everything Else pages will change somewhat. I think I’m going to try and focus more on paranormal NYC.

Today I registered the domain ParanormalNYC.com. It redirects to BaldPunk.com.

Here are my STORIES and PHOTOS

(South Street – Photos by Joe)

The five of us all gazed at a blue neon glow that was brightest by the Fish Market Restaurant on South Street. I shuffled my feet, blinked, squinted, and pretended to look real hard. Don’t know if the shuffling of the feet worked, but I did my best not to let on that I clearly saw what we all were searching for.

The others, who included my lady friend(LF), the pizza and Chinese delivery guys(aka num and nuts), along with a white interloper from Queens named Terrence, all knew they were missing “the bigger picture.”

The blue was representative. I saw “it,” but held my cards close.

Last month I had seen a similar glow over a late evening crowd holding placards, set behind police barricades by the Columbus Circle entrance to Central Park. It had seemed more like a blue gossamer upon their head and shoulders–or a touch of twilight that remained. Of the times before I had seen a similar glow, I had thought it nothing more than spirit matter, which I use to describe various unexplainable, airborne disturbances.

That night I had looked about for another trace of the blue as I headed up Central Park West. At my right was the stone wall that surrounds the rectangular park. While beginning on the corner across the street–for as far as the eye could see, were stately apartments, hotels, museums, and houses of worship. They create one of NYC’s many amazing skylines. It can be a visual treat from one of the park’s winding paths. Directly across the street, out front the comparatively-new, Trump high-rise hotel, I had spotted a point of blue as it glided toward the large globe that sits in the middle of Columbus Circle. All of a sudden, it had looked as if the point closed, re-opened, and rotated. I dropped my gaze to see my shirt and arms were illuminated by the same blue that fell upon the crowd.

(Columbus Circle)

Now, if I turned, in front of the old Fulton Fish Market building that sits on the water on South Street was a similar, hovering point of blue. It was like a floating eye, a probe, possibly–lighting upon the Fish Market Restaurant across the street. At various times the others had glanced back. I thought the only reason they didn’t see it was because it was tiny. After all, I had missed it plenty of other times throughout the city.

I nudged my LF’s sweaty arm, and whispered for her to turn around. She abruptly looked up at me. So did the others. I shook my head, not wanting to show them. Yet num and nuts, who both looked super cool in cottons with sweaty, slicked-back hair, started to grow jumpy and make the odd whimper.

I knew they were on to something. Those two are good at picking up shit, annoyingly good. But this is one secret I didn’t want to unravel just yet, especially since we were plagued by the interloper named Terrence–the big white guy who didn’t sweat. If I showed him, in the future he might think of me as his personal guide to the supernatural. I didn’t want that.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said, and started toward Fulton St., which is the main thoroughfare in the historic seaport area.

“Ner, nu, ner, na,” num and nuts uttered to each other. So much for their summer-chic, MTV beach house “façade!” Those two are whacked. I know that–and so do my readers.

“What is it?” my LF asked, her long black hair lying damply on her shoulders.

Num and nuts limply angled their arms a few doors to the left of the Fish Market Restaurant.

My anticipation rose. I shuffled my feet nervously. Terrence’s eyes opened wide and he smiled with hound dog cheeks.

Sure enough, where they had pointed, a steel gate over the front of one of the buildings opened a moment later. It was old and rickety, the kind that a person had to raise by pulling chains, yet it slipped up the painted steel rail without a sound or person in sight. Behind it a door opened and a man slinked out onto the sidewalk. Dark blue lines outlined his frame.

Head ducked into the open V-neck of a coat, the person swiftly headed uptown toward Peck Slip. Terrence jumped out between the traffic and crossed the street to the sound of horns. The man’s head shot up and his back straightened.

(Max Beckley)

I followed with a hop in my step. I had to skirt between passing cars, one being a cop car. I thudded ahead of Terrence and up behind the man. Along my bare arms appeared a dark outline of blue. I turned, and with a gnarl, yelled at Terrence. “If you know what’s good, stay the f— back!” He slowed. “There’s a line here that you don’t want to cross,” I said, threateningly.

Terrence sighed and came to a stop. His fleshy breasts jiggled for a second.

“Hey you, you, you!” I cried, watching the man’s steps grow hesitant as I caught up with him.

His face was bright pink as if it had been scrubbed. His short hair was dark, wavy, and clumped with a lumpy jell. The light in his eyes screamed of innocence. I recognized his face! It was the Revolutionary War soldier, Max Beckley!

“They woke me for you! They woke me for you,” Max said, his eyes alight with terror. Fear seemed to leap off his person. “I’m to give you a message.”

I stepped back in horror. My eyes were on the clumps of jell in his hair. What was it from? His birth???

It took all my power to utter, “What is it?”

“You amuse them,” he said with a strained laugh as if someone had forced the words him. He angled his face and gave an eerie, detached smile. Then he slapped his cheek. Blood oozed from his left eye. “This is what we can do,” Max said, though the voice was sweet and calm; definitely not his own. “Wake Max and kill Max. Others, too, Joe.”

They know my name.

From the corner of my eye, I spotted my friends encroaching. I windmilled one arm and cried, “Get back!”

Max fell to his knees, and his right leg snapped sideways at the calf. Yet he only moaned in pain, though such was the sound from his lips that it was like a silent scream. More bones snapped and my mind whirled in fear and disgust.

I wanted to run, but searched “them out.” I knew they were watching. I knew they were close.

Diagonally across the street in front of the old Fulton Fish Market building, mere feet from by the blue point of light, was an unusually dark, sleek space. I spotted a wide-bodied creature and saw vague motions flutter about it. I turned back to Max who was writhing in pain. His body slipped away and squished down into the curbside opening for the sewer. To fit, his flesh ripped away and more of his bones cracked.

There came shrieks and cries from my friends. My LF loudly sobbed. It took a minute or two to semi-recover after Max was gone. I looked about and saw the blue light along with the creature had also vanished.

—

Here are all the posts in this series: Episode Thirty – June/July 2010

Milk Toast

Keeping Secrets

See The Light

Here are my STORIES and info on my Novels

(Photos by Joe)

I wanted to get up some photos of these boats docked at Pier 17. If you’ve read some of my stories, you know I spend a lot time over there. 

Here are my STORIES and PHOTOS

(South Street across from The Paris Cafe – Photos by Joe)

“Where your treasure is, there will your heart also be.”                      

Luke 12:34   –

Believe me, I don’t give away all of NYC’s secrets. Especially those associated with that block of small brick buildings on South St. between Beekman St. and Peck Slip. At one end are vacant fish market offices, and at the other is The Paris Café, established in 1873. In my eyes, the sadly dilapidated row of buildings, save The Paris, sits in its own little cloud within the boundaries of historic South Street Seaport.

The rundown row carries the truth not only of time, but of another age. Particularly in the seemingly sterile tourist district, where many of the pre-20th Century brick and mortar buildings have been brought back to old world splendor.

Before I ever even noticed a strange cloud or apparition on that block, I saw the buildings as windows to the past. Now I know them as “curtains and doors” to which ghostly images permeate, yet still think of them as windows to the past, ones that for certain do not hold their secrets very well.

~

I headed across Pier 17 at South Street Seaport to meet my lady friend(LF) and the pizza and Chinese delivery guys(aka num and nuts). On the wooden pier is a three story mall that has an open deck, which wraps nearly around the upper floor.

Behind me was a pesky white guy from Queens named Terrence. He had just met me that hot and humid evening, and wanted details on a ghostly neon light over one of the aforementioned buildings on South St.

I stopped abruptly and shook my head. “Dude!” I cried in a derogatory manner, though that’s how that word always rings in my head. I looked away for a second. This guy just won’t leave me alone. “Another time, I’ll catch up with you. I’m just not in the mood to play tour guide to the supernatural tonight.”

“Maybe it would be, um, it would be easier, now!” Terrence said, his face round with plump cheeks and expressive brown eyes. “The blue neon light has, um-has started to brighten.”

“Man, you’re from Queens and you’re white, you’re basically a tourist!” I cried and paused to read a text message on my cell. My friends were wondering what was holding me up. I glanced at the skyscrapers in Lower Manhattan before I took in Terrence’s face. It was pure white, no greasy sunblock residue–and the bastard didn’t sweat . . .

Cell in hand, I pointed my thumb at him. “Listen, dude! If you don’t stop following me, I’ll never help you!”

Terrence sighed with head and shoulders hunched. His frame had the shape of a bloated question mark. At over six feet and near three hundred pounds, he didn’t exude a hint of aggression or force of character.

“Another night!”

“Okay,” he said, twisting his mouth and nose in a near quarter-circle. His large body heaved with sadness as he skulked off.

(Pier 17 at South Street Seaport)

I went into the seaport mall and met my friends. We had a few drinks on the outside third-floor deck. It’s one of my favorite places to hang out in NYC. I can grab a beer or a cup of Joe and kick back on a lounge chair, all while admiring the most famous East River crossings, Lower Manhattan, Brooklyn, and the Upper Bay.

I had told my friends about Terrence and what he was looking for. After we left the mall and came to South Street, we all gazed up past Beekman at “the brick row of buildings” on the west side of the street.

“I can see the neon blue glow,” my LF said, wearing a black tank top and shorts. Num and nuts, who both wore bahama shorts and cotton-white button-down shirts, nodded like bobbleheads.

“Yeah, and the fat white guy–see him, that’s Terrence,” I said, pointing to where he stood between two parked cars. There was a touch of the blue glow atop his head, which was cocked in an odd manner, as if his neck was broken.

“Let’s go over and take a look,” my LF said.

I stiffened. Let everyone look, but I’m not giving away this secret.

We took up on the other side of the street from the row of buildings, in a parking area under the elevated FDR highway. Terrence came over and joined us with an enthused smile. “This guy thinks I’m a tour guy to the supernatural,” I said, just before I reluctantly introduced him to my friends.

He guffawed with a twinkle in his eyes. We wasted no time in admiring the blue neon light. It was ”strongest” by the Fish Market Restaurant, which sat near the middle of the block.

(Fish Market Restaurant)

Num and nuts drifted into the street, which isn’t separated from the parking area by a sidewalk. All of a sudden, a tall tourist bus with Ontario plates towered directly over them! None of us had seen it coming. It would have been a scarier moment, had not the Canadian driver smirked and shook his head as if it was a routine occurrence. He pulled away without a sideways glance.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said.

“We’re missing something,” my LF said, to which everyone seemed to agree.

Except me! I didn’t say a word. I wasn’t giving this secret away even though I clearly saw what they were missing and knew if I pointed it out, it would be clear as day to them.

—

Here are all the posts in this series: Episode Thirty – June/July 2010

Milk Toast

Keeping Secrets

See The Light

Here are my STORIES and info on my Novels