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Old 02-01-2003, 08:34 AM   #1
amanda
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Mahogany

On the edge of dawn, light skims off the mist below the wing. Clouds dance with the wind. Light rays appear on the horizon. This is a world known and lost.

Ursula and Tom meet with Andre. Three bumps on a log waiting for Arthur to show. Ursula heard from him last, but that was three months ago. No one has his number. That’s all right. He’s in New York. Somebody there is bound to see him, even if he is dead. That’s the great thing about New York. You can always keep your appointments.

Ursula cradles her half-filled wine glass and talks of Italian tomatoes. “They are unlike any found in the world.”, she breathes with wine colored lips.

Tom nods. Digs out the Brazilian charm that he has made into a digital watch. He laughs to himself, thinking of Douglas. Poor sap. Had it coming to him, though. No one in their right mind should go against a shaman’s curse, even if he thinks the shaman is bellowing smoke up his arse.

Speaking of bellowing smoke, damned Andre is sucking on that bloody cigar again. Everyone knows they are Cubans, most likely lifted straight from Castro’s humidor. Seems a strange accompaniment to the cheap expresso that was being served unceremoniously, in a round cardboard box with its own jacket. Tom came from Seattle, the land of ever-flowing espresso where this crazed mass addiction to sub-average drug in the first place. Yet, he could appreciate a good cup of Jamaican-grown, Italian-prepared espresso.

Guatemala Antigua swirls majestically, creating wind, fire, and mist.

Ursula muses why musicals weren’t being written anymore. Andre laughs spitefully, puffs of smoke billow out of his cavernous mouth. He knows why. He always knows why.
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Old 02-06-2003, 09:21 PM   #2
nycwriters
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On the edge of dawn, light skims off the mist below the wing. Clouds dance with the wind. Light rays appear on the horizon. This is a world known and lost.

Ursula and Tom meet with Andre. Three bumps on a log waiting for Arthur to show. Ursula heard from him last, but that was three months ago. No one has his number. That’s all right. He’s in New York. Somebody there is bound to see him, even if he is dead. That’s the great thing about New York. You can always keep your appointments.

Ursula cradles her half-filled wine glass and talks of Italian tomatoes. “They are unlike any found in the world.”, she breathes with wine colored lips.

Tom nods. Digs out the Brazilian charm that he has made into a digital watch. He laughs to himself, thinking of Douglas. Poor sap. Had it coming to him, though. No one in their right mind should go against a shaman’s curse, even if he thinks the shaman is bellowing smoke up his arse.

Speaking of bellowing smoke, damned Andre is sucking on that bloody cigar again. Everyone knows they are Cubans, most likely lifted straight from Castro’s humidor. Seems a strange accompaniment to the cheap expresso that was being served unceremoniously, in a round cardboard box with its own jacket. Tom came from Seattle, the land of ever-flowing espresso where this crazed mass addiction to sub-average drug in the first place. Yet, he could appreciate a good cup of Jamaican-grown, Italian-prepared espresso.

Guatemala Antigua swirls majestically, creating wind, fire, and mist.

Ursula muses why musicals weren’t being written anymore. Andre laughs spitefully, puffs of smoke billow out of his cavernous mouth. He knows why. He always knows why.

Down the street, in a dusty murky second-hand shop, sits Andre's best friend Seth. He graduated college two years ago and still hasn't found a steady job -- not that he's looking. Somehow, despite all the pressure from his upperclass parents, he's not budging, and is happy in limbo.

He frustrates Ursula, who knows what she wants, but can't seem to get there somehow. She's seen the world, but has yet to find home. Cultured, refined, the epitomy of feminine, but with a hardy demeanor -- a true survivor.

They dated for a while, she and Seth, back in college. It was one of those impossible matches that somehow worked. Polar opposites in many respects, they complimented each other's deficiencies.

It ended when Ursula started to get itchy feet and there were many bitter tears as she fled to Mykonos. Seth, in his apathy, couldn't find it in himself to follow. There's not a day goes by that he doesn't regret that though.

And he doesn't know she's back in town; literally within yelling distance. Andre hasn't told him yet. And based on their past, he's not sure he will.
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Old 02-12-2003, 12:05 PM   #3
amanda
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On the edge of dawn, light skims off the mist below the wing. Clouds dance with the wind. Light rays appear on the horizon. This is a world known and lost.

Ursula and Tom meet with Andre. Three bumps on a log waiting for Arthur to show. Ursula heard from him last, but that was three months ago. No one has his number. That’s all right. He’s in New York. Somebody there is bound to see him, even if he is dead. That’s the great thing about New York. You can always keep your appointments.

Ursula cradles her half-filled wine glass and talks of Italian tomatoes. “They are unlike any found in the world.”, she breathes with wine colored lips.

Tom nods. Digs out the Brazilian charm that he has made into a digital watch. He laughs to himself, thinking of Douglas. Poor sap. Had it coming to him, though. No one in their right mind should go against a shaman’s curse, even if he thinks the shaman is bellowing smoke up his arse.

Speaking of bellowing smoke, damned Andre is sucking on that bloody cigar again. Everyone knows they are Cubans, most likely lifted straight from Castro’s humidor. Seems a strange accompaniment to the cheap expresso that was being served unceremoniously, in a round cardboard box with its own jacket. Tom came from Seattle, the land of ever-flowing espresso where this crazed mass addiction to sub-average drug in the first place. Yet, he could appreciate a good cup of Jamaican-grown, Italian-prepared espresso.

Guatemala Antigua swirls majestically, creating wind, fire, and mist.

Ursula muses why musicals weren’t being written anymore. Andre laughs spitefully, puffs of smoke billow out of his cavernous mouth. He knows why. He always knows why.

Down the street, in a dusty murky second-hand shop, sits Andre's best friend Seth. He graduated college two years ago and still hasn't found a steady job -- not that he's looking. Somehow, despite all the pressure from his upperclass parents, he's not budging, and is happy in limbo.

He frustrates Ursula, who knows what she wants, but can't seem to get there somehow. She's seen the world, but has yet to find home. Cultured, refined, the epitomy of feminine, but with a hardy demeanor -- a true survivor.

They dated for a while, she and Seth, back in college. It was one of those impossible matches that somehow worked. Polar opposites in many respects, they complimented each other's deficiencies.

It ended when Ursula started to get itchy feet and there were many bitter tears as she fled to Mykonos. Seth, in his apathy, couldn't find it in himself to follow. There's not a day goes by that he doesn't regret that though.

And he doesn't know she's back in town; literally within yelling distance. Andre hasn't told him yet. And based on their past, he's not sure he will.

Tom looks at his watch again. The curve of the seven reminds him of Brazil, as does the small wooden totem that is attached to it.
"A shaman has the easiest job in the world." Douglas mentioned one firelit night, hazed by unrefined cocoa, "All he does is create a fear and tries to cure it. Not unlike the politicians of the crazed mogolith we're from."

It has been bothering Tom. No one really knows what happend to Douglas.

The totem stares back. It offers no answers.
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