Style:When I write, I start out trying to be flowery and literary. This usually gives way to me trying to stay on the topic. In the end, I'm telling jokes and being sarcastic. Imagine you're being interviewed for 60 Minutes tonight and Mike Wallace asks you, "How would you characterize your writing style in this novel?" And you smile quirkishly, and say....
Howdy!
The robot waived and smiled as ...
Costco
What do you buy in huge quantities? What do you like that most people dislike? How was your last (weirdest) trip to the super discount store?
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Howdy! by Wolfgang Glinka
"Howdy!" he said walking down the stairs as if he owned the place.
"Who are you?" I said trying to sound masterful. Actually, I was frightened. I thought he was a burglar.
"Would a cup of coffee be possible? I'm dying for one," he said in the same bright voice, this smiling man in a suit who had just taken the most comfortable seat in the house.
It was a good idea, I thought. I really wanted one too.
"Cigarette?" he said lighting one up for himself.
"No thanks, I've given up." I replied sitting down opposite him with my coffee. "Oh what the Hell, I would like one. Thanks."
It tasted so good, after the initial burst of light-headedness.
This guy was beginning to grow on me.
"Why don't we go out? It's such a wonderful day out there," he said with such a winning grin that I could not resist.
I tried to.
"But my wife will be back soon."
"Leave her a note my friend. Days like this don't come every day."
He was right. I knew he was.
"Is this the bar you usually go to?" he said with a knowing look. " When you used to drink?"
It was as a matter of fact. I had been a drunk in this bar for far too long but I had broken the habit.
Until today that is.
"Another one?" he asked. The drinks were all on him. So were the cigarettes.
It was dark when we left the bar and I did not care. I was feeling so good, so alive again.
That was how we got to the prostitutes.
He was so persuasive.
"Enjoy yourself, man." he said with a laugh. "How many times do we pass through this life?"
He waited outside..always the gentleman.
"How was it my friend?" he asked when it was over.
"Not good. I was too drunk....it never works that."
I felt bad now..the same day hangover and the sad, disapointing sex left me feeling sordid somehow. A failure.
"Nothing a line of man's best friend won't cure..here have some of this."
He was right of course. Soon I was flying again.
Don't remind me about what I did next.
Where was he when I needed him? That charming man.
Not in the street that morning when I awoke in a doorway.
He had nothing for my head, nothing for my guilt, nothing for my loss.
I saw him again of course.
Wolfgang Glinka
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