The Dirty Blue Car

An old blue car covered with dust and dirt drove slowly down the street. It cruised past the nineteen fifties houses with their covered porches and flower boxes. Children played here and there, but not very many. This was a mixed neighborhood, not like the new neighborhoods a mile down the road where all the houses belonged to young families and the kids were everywhere. Here, only one in five houses had a child occupant in residence. Most of these houses belonged to older couples whose children had moved on to college or started families of their own someplace else.

That was the way of things. Time passed, neighborhoods changed. Once, this had been a young neighborhood. Once, there had been children in the alleys, and in the vacant lots, and jumping off the rooftops holding umbrellas. Once there had been gangs of them killing each other in bloody mobs behind convenience stores, and selling drugs out of vans. Once, young women had sold themselves along these very sidewalks for money to buy the drugs they needed to keep them from suicide. But not anymore. The kids had grown up. Or they had died. Now there were only a few lonely clusters of kids who watched carefully every where they went. No, there weren’t many kids here at all.

But there was a dirty blue car.

It stopped in front of an old craftsman with a fishing boat decaying on a trailer in the driveway. On the back of the boat were the words “Foo-Bar.” It was a civilian take on the military acronym FUBAR, which stood for “Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.” Considering the condition of the boat, it was fitting. The boat was indeed foobar.

Both doors on the dirty blue car opened simultaneously, and two men got out. They were wearing sunglasses, jeans and dark navy sports jackets – the cheap polyester kind.  All in all, this was an odd look. They’d easily be identified as punks if it weren’t for the jackets. Punks wouldn’t be caught dead wearing polyester sport jackets. Hell, MOST people wouldn’t be caught dead wearing polyester sport jackets.

The two approached the front door. Each of them carried a thick black book under their arms. They moved slowly, but did not shuffle. Creaking from the wood on the porch was extremely loud. Not because the young men were heavy, but because the wood was old.

One of them opened the screen door and held it while the other pounded on the door. Several minutes past by, and then the muffled voice of an old man came from the other side. “Who is it?” the voice demanded.

“My name is Jacobs,” said the young man who had knocked. “I am here with an associate of mine, Forbush. We would like to have a word with you about a few things that you might find interesting.”

“Like what?” shouted the old man.

“Open your door,” said Jacobs, “and I’ll explain.”

Forbush put his foot in front of the screen to hold it open, freeing his hand which he then used to reach inside of his jacket. “Please, come out Sir,” he added. “Or at least open the door. We can’t hear you very well, and this would be much easier face to face.”

“That’s right,” agreed Jacobs. “Face to face would be easier.”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

There is always one more story to be told...

Writing ate my soul - and I'm perfectly happy with that.


When will we ever learn?: Common sense and nonsense about today's public schools in America.

She's a Maineiac

just another plaid-wearin' java-sippin' girl

Fire and Air

Babblings of interest -- to me, that is

Parenting And Stuff

Not a "how to be a great parent" blog


clawing at the keys

P. Emerson Williams

Necrofuturist Art


explorations of mindful fatherhood

The Consortium of the Curious

For those bemused by the bizarre and engrossed in the esoteric.

reluctant writer girl

There is nothing to writing, all you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed. - Ernest Hemingway

Beneath the Tin Foil Hat

Speak The Truth, Even If Your Voice Shakes.

"You Jivin' Me, Turkey?"

***"Maybe this World is Another Planet's HELL." - Aldous Huxley***

Is everyone stupid?

Some of my observations and opinions on current events

Literature and Libation

Through it all, your spirit's alive

The abrasive embrace

Thoughts about Thoughtlessness

The Jiggly Bits

...because life is funny.

Stay Abnormal

Random thoughts and rants from an Abnormal


Rants My Way


Hikari's Food/Japanophile and Other Interesting Stuff blog

An explosion of creative madness

Please take a look at my novel in progress Humanity: The fall and be critical. Thankyou!

Curmudgeon at Large

Short bursts of curmudgeonry on any topic.

Wretched Richard's Almanac

Five minutes here and the rest of your day will seem much more important


A great site

livin' like a freebird

cynical realism for the common man

hippie cahier!

Bill Boyd - The Literacy Adviser

Learning and Teaching Literacy in the Digital Age

The Quick Brown Fox

My thoughts laid out from A to Z.

Urbannight's Blog

Looking at the world at 40.


For when you wanna go "WTF did I just read?"


laughingstock of the Internet.

Typical Tracy

Memories & Musings of an Average, Middle Aged, Mother of Two

Stuff Kids Write

Like stuff adults write. But funnier.

The Shut-in Stand-Up

A comedic look at modern life from the perspective of a traumatized but standing up shut-in.


This site is the cat’s pajamas

Mystery of Iniquity

"...doth already work."

Bill McCurry

Fantasy Fiction That Bleeds Laughter

Miss Demure Restraint

Lost I may yet reach my goal . . . Without finding all that I seek . . . I might still be made whole.

Sanctity Rapture I still here? Jesus where are you?

Sky Diaries

Lynn Biederstadt's space about writing. About the journey that writers take. Despite themselves.

Trippin' in Thailand

Another Beautiful Adventure

Randomize ME

Freebies, Deals, Reviews, Music, Books & other random things I like!

The Good Greatsby

The humor blog of Paul Johnson: He doesn't do it for the money. But he wouldn't object if you gave him some.

Gruffguano's Weblog

Just another weblog


The Official Blog of JERK Magazine at Syracuse University

Politics or Poppycock

A Look From the Left At Politics, Politicians, Policies and Issues of National Concern


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 470 other followers

%d bloggers like this: