CONTINUE THE STORY! :)
CONTINUE THE STORY! :)
Somehow our story got divided and sent to two people at once. By the time it got back to me there were two drastically different versions. I had to choose between the two, and it wasn't easy, but I chose to continue the shorter one because it had the most interesting dialog so far (in my opinion).
I also changed the order, or 'seating arrangement' of the people in the circle because the order is already messed up and I don't want anyone to feel like they're participating more or less than another person. This way it's kind of a fresh start.
Here's the new order. Make sure when it gets to you that you refer to this list and pass it to the right person!
DynamicJ
$ayzak
$lmJimy
mystoneybaby
$nipe
$hiny
If you decide you don't want to, or can not participate, let me know so I can edit the list.
I also changed the order, or 'seating arrangement' of the people in the circle because the order is already messed up and I don't want anyone to feel like they're participating more or less than another person. This way it's kind of a fresh start.
Here's the new order. Make sure when it gets to you that you refer to this list and pass it to the right person!
DynamicJ
$ayzak
$lmJimy
mystoneybaby
$nipe
$hiny
If you decide you don't want to, or can not participate, let me know so I can edit the list.
Here's the story SO FAR! This is what the story looks like after my latest addition to it. This is how it looks in Jimmy's pm box. It's up to Jimmy to add something to it and pass it on to Emily who will do the same. So on and so forth.
It was a warm summer evening, and the freeway seemed to stretch for eternity over the fading orange horizon. The air conditioner hasn't worked since Greg bought his '72 station wagon a week ago. Pea-green leather interior. And it smells like gas. At least the radio works... just well enough to pick up some static with a little music in the background. He can't wait to get out and stretch his legs. He's been on the road since 9a.m. only taking the few needed stops for gas. His stomach growls with intensity, and he decides to pull off at the next exit.
An hour or so later, Greg sees exit 71B. Having made this trip, what seemed like 20-30 times, he couldn't quite remember ever seeing an alphanumerical exit. Enticed by the thought of adventure, he decides to pull off the exit.
"Hmm.. it's 9pm. I can grab a meal and still get back on the road in time," he said to himself, while entering this old vintage-looking bar. As he enters, he notices all the heads turning, and he gets this weird feeling that everyone is looking at him, but he doesn't mind. He just keeps walking and asks for a beer. But the cocky feeling disappeared as soon as he glances at her from the other side of the bar.
She had long medium brown hair with brown eyes and a shy posture, as she leaned down, mixing Splenda into her brown coffee. Greg had always liked the color brown, and the fact that this girl even had on a light brown shirt with an obscure band logo on the front (which he knew of from reading Pitchfork's review of their debut album just the day before) made his heart flutter wildly. He must have been staring at her for 15 seconds when the bartender slammed the menu down in front of him, stared into his soul with stern, bloodshot eyes, and said in an overly protective tone, "If you have any questions about what's on the menu, holler at me."
The stern words of the bartender did not end there. "Look bub, I see you're new around here so I'll cut you some slack." Greg looked into the bartender’s eyes knowing that he was serious and that he better pay attention to every syllable that exited that mans mouth. "That there girl is my daughter and the last thing she needs..." he looked Greg up and down noticing his ripped jeans and old stained t-shirt "...is a dirty scum bag like you in her life." Greg replied, "I'm sorry sir, I just want a beer and I'll be on my way." The bartender gave out what sounded like a grunt and grabbed a mug and asked "what kind?" "Yuengling" replied Greg. The bartender filled up the mug and slammed it down. Greg sat there sipping on his beer trying to make inconspicuous glances at the bartender’s daughter when he wasn’t looking.
"Don't mind my father..." the girl said, with a look of amusement. "He's been that way since I was a little girl. Would never hurt a fly." Greg smiled, and took a larger, more confident gulp of beer, and glanced over at the bartender who hadn't so much as blinked since their last conversation.
"So, what's the name of this town?" Greg asked. "Palm Hills, and I am Jennifer, by the way." "Palm Hills, huh?" Greg chuckles. "Haven't ever heard of a palm tree in Indiana."
Suddenly the music stopped. Greg glanced around nervously. Jennifer's father, the bartender, disappeared in a back room for a minute, and reemerged with a shot gun. Just as he cocked the gun, the door opened. "Don't look at them," Jennifer whispered to Greg as she swirled the stool so she could face the bar. "...and don't say anything."
It was a warm summer evening, and the freeway seemed to stretch for eternity over the fading orange horizon. The air conditioner hasn't worked since Greg bought his '72 station wagon a week ago. Pea-green leather interior. And it smells like gas. At least the radio works... just well enough to pick up some static with a little music in the background. He can't wait to get out and stretch his legs. He's been on the road since 9a.m. only taking the few needed stops for gas. His stomach growls with intensity, and he decides to pull off at the next exit.
An hour or so later, Greg sees exit 71B. Having made this trip, what seemed like 20-30 times, he couldn't quite remember ever seeing an alphanumerical exit. Enticed by the thought of adventure, he decides to pull off the exit.
"Hmm.. it's 9pm. I can grab a meal and still get back on the road in time," he said to himself, while entering this old vintage-looking bar. As he enters, he notices all the heads turning, and he gets this weird feeling that everyone is looking at him, but he doesn't mind. He just keeps walking and asks for a beer. But the cocky feeling disappeared as soon as he glances at her from the other side of the bar.
She had long medium brown hair with brown eyes and a shy posture, as she leaned down, mixing Splenda into her brown coffee. Greg had always liked the color brown, and the fact that this girl even had on a light brown shirt with an obscure band logo on the front (which he knew of from reading Pitchfork's review of their debut album just the day before) made his heart flutter wildly. He must have been staring at her for 15 seconds when the bartender slammed the menu down in front of him, stared into his soul with stern, bloodshot eyes, and said in an overly protective tone, "If you have any questions about what's on the menu, holler at me."
The stern words of the bartender did not end there. "Look bub, I see you're new around here so I'll cut you some slack." Greg looked into the bartender’s eyes knowing that he was serious and that he better pay attention to every syllable that exited that mans mouth. "That there girl is my daughter and the last thing she needs..." he looked Greg up and down noticing his ripped jeans and old stained t-shirt "...is a dirty scum bag like you in her life." Greg replied, "I'm sorry sir, I just want a beer and I'll be on my way." The bartender gave out what sounded like a grunt and grabbed a mug and asked "what kind?" "Yuengling" replied Greg. The bartender filled up the mug and slammed it down. Greg sat there sipping on his beer trying to make inconspicuous glances at the bartender’s daughter when he wasn’t looking.
"Don't mind my father..." the girl said, with a look of amusement. "He's been that way since I was a little girl. Would never hurt a fly." Greg smiled, and took a larger, more confident gulp of beer, and glanced over at the bartender who hadn't so much as blinked since their last conversation.
"So, what's the name of this town?" Greg asked. "Palm Hills, and I am Jennifer, by the way." "Palm Hills, huh?" Greg chuckles. "Haven't ever heard of a palm tree in Indiana."
Suddenly the music stopped. Greg glanced around nervously. Jennifer's father, the bartender, disappeared in a back room for a minute, and reemerged with a shot gun. Just as he cocked the gun, the door opened. "Don't look at them," Jennifer whispered to Greg as she swirled the stool so she could face the bar. "...and don't say anything."
Last edited by $ayzak on Tue May 22, 2007 7:29 pm, edited 1 time in total.
-
- Taiyed Brodel
- Posts: 7625
- Joined: Sat Apr 30, 2005 6:38 pm
- Location: the dirrrty South(bridge), Ma
-
- Taiyed Brodel
- Posts: 7625
- Joined: Sat Apr 30, 2005 6:38 pm
- Location: the dirrrty South(bridge), Ma