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The Brashest of Beggars

Skip Stone sat down at the corner booth in the diner and smoothed his hands across the tabletop once before tucking them back in to adjust his tie. 1,255 more words

Erich Forschler

Are you Ashamed?

How much is that doggie in the window?

The one with the cone on his head.

How much is that doggie in the window?

I’ll bet that he wished he was dead. 813 more words

Erich Forschler

The Nothing or the Something or the Shut up Already - You Pick

Today marks a new day for this blog. Ages and ages ago this blog was once used for something, albeit random stories and poems which no one ever read. 690 more words

Erich Forschler

Through Windshields

“All of this,” he said as he swirled the air between us with his hand, a cigarette bracketed between two fingers, “is a matter of perspective.” He brought the cigarette to his mouth after that and pulled on it as he looked back at me. 1,495 more words

Erich Forschler

Muted Sounds

We float.

Or perhaps we sink.

I suppose it all feels the same.

In dreams we are immune from these sensations,

at once cemented to our hidden fears yet free to be ourselves. 21 more words

Erich Forschler

Milgram Street

Cool air comes steady past the metal wind chimes hangin from the eave.

We can hear them from here – all the way across the empty street. 294 more words

Erich Forschler

Deployment Scribblings Part Fifteen

There must be some big ass breakfast chef somewhere in the universe making omelets like IHOP just opened up 100 new stores in the Pleiades. And there he is, floating like milky fog and visible only from a million light years away, with pancake batter smeared on his face and apron, and bits of egg shell fused to the backs of his busy fingers. 507 more words

Erich Forschler