The Base

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.

“Sure is coming down real hard.” Teeny returned the pot to the burner. “Glad I'm inside even if I am working a double.”

I nodded. It was a familiar story. Long before I had ever set foot inside the Hot Plate, Teeny's husband, Ralph, had been laid off from the refinery. On top of that, Ralph's mother had come to live with them a couple of months ago. Teeny worked damn hard to make enough money to support all three the best she could. She kept coffees topped off and smiled twice as much as she frowned. I guessed the long hours away gave her time to herself, considering the studio she rented. Three people was a lot to cram into a single room.

"You're quiet today, even for you." she said. "Weather got you down too?"

"Just thinking about how unfair everything is." I said.

"Oh I try not to do that. That would drive me right up the walls and I'd be a mess, crying all the time."

After a moment she lowered her voice even though we were alone, "There is something that helps me bear it all, if you want to hear it."


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Comments (1 so far!)



This is a great hanging point because what comes next can range anywhere from the innocent to the sinister.

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