Thanks be to all of you who've followed this ship of fools boatload of morons RV full of jackasses crack team of fictioning pros on our inaugural journey. Our caboose - Mr. Whit Honea- is unable to join us for this final post of PF v1.0, but in his honor I'm going to post the hypothetical wrapup to our long, strange story of Slick, Charlie, Mr & Mrs Howell and all the rest that he posited waaaaaay back in September, just as we were getting the ball rolling. I hope you'll enjoy it in the spirit in which it was intended, and look forward to joining us again soon as we relaunch - take a deep breath, because you know this is coming - with Polite Fictions 2: Electric Bugaloo.
Slick opened his eyes. It was dark and he was wet. Another night of joyful fucking. Another night of crazy dreams. He went through a lot of underwear.
He could hear the bakery across the street. Charlie would be there. Someday he would say something. Today he'd settle for a smile.
The dreams left him winded. And alone.
Rosebud.
I love it! I'm sure Whit would agree.
Posted by: Cheryl | Friday, December 11, 2009 at 03:46 PM
hahahahaha...
OK - wait - all that laughter is about terribly high number of times I've come to with wet pants and thought it was for a good reason.
Good wrap up.
Posted by: Mongoliangirl | Monday, December 14, 2009 at 01:14 PM