For the first time in 2022, our dear and lovely lady, the queen of Friday Fictionalism, Mistress Rochelle has joined forces with Brenda Cox to masterfully tempt me into yet another maddening moment of muse-some, mendacious micro-storytelling.
Click on the next photo for a free taxi ride over to Rochelle’s place where you may want to get smart about writing fibs to a photographer’s photo. My sad story follows the prompt pic.
Genre: Gonzo Journalism
Title: Don’t Be Misunderstood
Word Count: 100
Cold and drunk as I might be, I stumbled into the artists den, desperately needing to pee.
Of a painting man I asked, “Where’s the restroom?” my slurred Texas accent sounded like I asked, boom-boom?
With a mean look he yelled at me, “Number ten. Boocoo dinky-dau drunk, american. Take money!”
Through a white curtain, I entered where several young ladies were sitting around laughing and pointing. One demanded money.
I got out my wallet. Then, I heard a loud crack.
Next thing I woke up, dead as you see me now, with wet pants and an empty wallet.
Look both ways in the house of the rising sun.
Mind the gaps, speak clearly, and reconsider the nearest bush.
A bonus, if you dare: —