Tuesday 200 - #38

You may have noticed I missed last week. I had the best intentions, but vacationitis got the best of me and thought it would be coarse to write "fuck all" 100 times.

But I was thinking about my little project, especially last Tuesday on the sandbar at sunset ...

And so without further ado, we continue on with our tiny tales.

:: :: ::

“But Lulu,” he said. “In God’s eyes, we’re all cousins.”

“Could be, Verne, but in the law’s eyes, cousins can’t get married. Cute as you are, we can’t keep fooling around. I’m turning over a new leaf,” she said, flipping a page in her dog-eared Danielle Steele paperback.

Verne spit some Skoal juice into the can of Pabst he’d had for breakfast. He missed a bit and wiped the brown dribble off his chin. “Come on darlin’, ain’t like that broad’s got proof.”

“That broad is my mama,” Lulu said. “And her proof is that birthmark on your ass, which I still have NO IDEA why you showed her.”

Alma had squealed, “Sweet wounded Jesus, that’s the same purple bowling pin on my brother’s baby. LIttle Brunswick, we ain’t seen you for 19 years, when your momma ran off with Hugo from the A&P. I gotta run tell Bubba,” she said.

“Verne, you better get.”

“Aww … Lulu, ” he kicked at some dust. “You want one last go?”

“Are you friggin’ kidding me?”

Verne grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, hurry up,” Lulu said, tossing her book aside. “Mama’ll be back with the whole trailer park in no time.”

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Tuesday 200, fiction