The Neighborhood

Detective Sergeant “Palone” Ortiz bristled with a dark and quiet anger at this latest indignity, this new injustice. Juannie Rodriquez was a little crazy sure, but they had been partners working street crimes for three years with no problems up to him being placed on suspension last week for shooting an asshole who deserved it majorly.
Having a stranger, some “Detective Patrick Michael O’Shawnasea” to watch his back
on the street was not a good feeling, and the Captain was still too pissed off at Juannie,
to hear anything Palone had to say. “Why from way cross town, why him, why a guy so, so white?” muttered Palone, and with a rising voice continued “I swear if he makes one fucking taco joke, one  fucking Speedy Gonzales crack, I’ll loose it and won’t be responsible for what happens.”
Next day as the tension in their unmarked car climbing higher and higher till the new guy let out a long slow sigh, shook his head and said “Man, you know…. I could never stand to live around here like you people do, never, just couldn’t deal with it!”
As Palone considered several extremely violent options, O’Shawnasea continued
“I mean, look at these Spanish women, just look, – their eyes, how they smile, and ohmygod how they wear their jeans-  I’d never get anything done falling in love, what three times every block”, leaving Detective Sergeant Ortiz to chuckle and reply “Yeah, sure, maybe- it’s just a neighborhood thing I guess ……. I never noticed.”

by-Doug Mathewson

Babbage’s Messaging Engine And Problems Arising From It’s Use

My Dearest Lady Astrid, I find myself most distraught by your message of yester evening; could it have indeed been your intent to click “send”? This recent missive has my heart racing two fold, in anticipation of your intimate embrace of a certainty as well in fear of reprisal at the hands of your exceptionally violent, ill tempered husband (the man our dear Queen referred to as “The Bloodiest of Britain’s Great Berserkers!). You may recall that in addition to being your somewhat hot-headed, fiercely possessive, and rabidly vengeful husband, the Brigadier is also my commanding officer!
Emailing me here in care of the Royal Fusileers is wildly dangerous as I am sure your husband, should he learn of our meetings, our rencontres romantiques may we say,
would hesitate not an instant to spend the coppers of my life’s blood here and now upon these dry desert sands. It was yourself, dear lady, with your ever present sharp cruel wit who mockingly observed that my bold and manly courage faded to mere vapors beyond you chamber doors, so while in theory I would face a thousand deaths with saber in hand, endure any manner of hardship and depravation for but a single kiss from your lovely lips, this is not a good time.
Fervently I wish to continue our conversation which you know I value so reverently, but please my Lady (dare I say, … my Heart) we must be discrete for both our sakes – your womanly good reputation and my very life depend on it, to that end contact me exclusively my love at this, I beg of you.


Gran’s Car

Gran’s blue car was
never out in a storm.
It hardly ever got wet.
Church and doctors.
Fridays the market.
That’s all.
Till a year to the day
after Grampa died,
and she drove it off a cliff.

By-Doug Mathewson

Fast Lane

Arizona Highway,
Ford Crown Vic coming up fast.
Hair just flying out the window!
Woman’s got a heavy foot.
Passed me better than a hundred,
Oh, ….. it’s the Tribal Police.

Like many of my stories this is accurate and true with only the exceptions being the parts that are pretend. My sister had taken up with some damned fiddle player,and she wanted to got to Tucson early to see his band play in some broke-down bar. More fiddling going on I knew than what he was up to with his Walmart Stradivarius, but that’s none of mine as they say. Now mostly she goes to the farmer’s market next town over.  Sells a little produce off back of her old truck. Now there was a problem. A problem for me, her little brother to solve. That thirty year old farm truck won’t make any seventy – eighty miles south to Tucson. So there I was with my Toyota full of her cantaloupes and peppers right up to the roof, just driving along, when this incident took place. Thought they was going to the casino or some fool place.
So like I say, all true. Well all but I never had a Toyota, or them cantaloupes either, or to be honest a sister. Don’t even live out that way to tell the truth.  – Doug