bishopchave

bishopchave

This user account status is Approved

"You'll never take me alive, coppers!", Smiles yelled out the window of his car. Li'l Jimmy Boxer leaned out the passenger window and sprayed the red and blues with a hail from his typewriter, thinning the ranks of the pursuers by two.

he diagramed a diaphragm to show the ma'am her problam because you see, she couldn't breathe and the mystery was solved with ease

as with a bat, or a gun, or a knife. or a heart. or a word. many ways to die, many ways to live. kiss me, kill me, show me more

Rifle slung over his shoulder, big six gun on his hip, the Ranger rode through the desert searching for the man in black. The trail had led him far across the country, miles and months he traveled. Soon he would find his father and redeem his family's name.

He lay there in the scrap pile, staring at the sky as he did most days. His thoughts were miles away, thinking of all the broken machines around him. Broken like he was. They called him Junkyard and that's how he felt. A pile of broken metal, rusty and sharp. Worn down. Used up. Discarded. So, he came here everyday, stared into the sun, and broke down more every time they yelled through the chain link at him.

I assert that certain urchins are, in fact, not as poor as they let on and simply play on others sympathy to make it easier for themselves. These certain urchins may be seen near exit ramps, under bridges, or outside bars in well populated areas. Trust me, I've seen them. YES, ALL OF THEM. EVER.

A helping hand is all that's needed, another way out A crutch on which you wish to stand, But you stumble, fumble, fall, And I help myself to what's left of you

Average is as average does, not below, not above. Indeed, it seems, average is between what you think you are and what others seem.

lousy

The weather was lousy. Clouds hung low, the sky an end-of-days grey. There were no birds, they were all gone south. It put a sour taste in his mouth when he stepped outside.

He was a reader. Of faces, places, books, nooks, niches. He could see through you, read you, know you instantly. He could tell so much simply by watching. He could read you the history of the buildings just by looking at the pockmarks in the brick or stains on the walls. He was a reader.

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writing since 2010 · 13 entries · 12 days shown up

each square is a day—lit means Bishop showed up.

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on this day 16 years ago

Bishop wrote about reader
“He was a reader. Of faces, places, books, nooks, niches. He could see through you, read you, know you instantly. He could tell so much simply by watching. He could read you the history of the bui…”

the words Bishop reaches for

averagebrokenmixedthoughtsdropwallshistoryreaderreadsimplyskyoutsideotherscertainurchinspile