“I turned the corner where Lowenstein & Lowe, Attorneys at Law, had their offices back when Eisenhower was running things. Their office is long gone. It’s a Pizzeria now. And while Aldo makes a nice Napoletana, I miss the old neighbourhood. There’s a Yoga studio upstairs. Back in the day, you’d have been arrested for running a yoga class in this burg. This town had changed a lot. Like some squeaky-clean cousin you saw at a wedding when you were kids and then met again years later to find that they’d turned into a juiced-up hop-head who’s first words to you after all these years were “Hey, nice to see ya, pal. What’s it been, twenny years? Can ya spare me a few bucks?”
Up ahead, I saw a drunk stumbling towards me. He took a few wavering steps and would have fallen flat on his face if he didn’t have the wall of the Verbal Building to hold him up. He was about seven feet away from me when he straightened up and in a very sober voice said “Gimme yer wallet and watch, man, and you’ll get to have breakfast.”
I thought he was kidding, but the one-eyed stare from the .38 in his hand kept a straight face. I reached into my jacket pocket and fished out a pack of Luckies. I flicked the pack one-handed and a nail popped up half-way out of the pack. And some people say I have no skills.
“Think I’m kidding here, man?”
I tossed the packet towards his face. Amateur that he was, he lifted the pistol up to shield his eyes. That was all I needed. I lunged at his gun arm, grabbed his wrist with my right hand and his elbow with my left. Then I pulled back a little with my right. Not too much. Just enough to make it memorable for him.
I don’t remember which was louder, his scream or his elbow joint popping. I grabbed the gun by the barrel and clocked him just under his right ear. He fell faster than yesterday’s stock prices.
“I’ll keep the hardware, chum. Sleep tight”, I said, but I doubt he heard me. I reminded myself to call 911 when I got back to my apartment.
“You’re getting too old for this, Marlowe”, I murmured to myself. But I’d known that for years.”
************************************************************************
Okay, 12:08am, dammit. I was hoping to get to bed before midnight.
Great photo, Mr Bullet. Thanks for the inspiration, and apologies to Mr Chandler.
!@#!*#@!! How dare you upstage me on my own post!! – LOL
Hey, that was great writing, teeritz! I wish I could write narrative like that. You’ve got some talent there.
My next post shall be a picture of a one-armed clown and a duck playing patty-cake, whilst riding on an elevator. You can get a head start thinking about a story for that one.
Streamlines DeLuxe 
Your writing is riveting, it match well the photo!!! Cheers Nonoy Manga
“I turned the corner where Lowenstein & Lowe, Attorneys at Law, had their offices back when Eisenhower was running things. Their office is long gone. It’s a Pizzeria now. And while Aldo makes a nice Napoletana, I miss the old neighbourhood. There’s a Yoga studio upstairs. Back in the day, you’d have been arrested for running a yoga class in this burg. This town had changed a lot. Like some squeaky-clean cousin you saw at a wedding when you were kids and then met again years later to find that they’d turned into a juiced-up hop-head who’s first words to you after all these years were “Hey, nice to see ya, pal. What’s it been, twenny years? Can ya spare me a few bucks?”
Up ahead, I saw a drunk stumbling towards me. He took a few wavering steps and would have fallen flat on his face if he didn’t have the wall of the Verbal Building to hold him up. He was about seven feet away from me when he straightened up and in a very sober voice said “Gimme yer wallet and watch, man, and you’ll get to have breakfast.”
I thought he was kidding, but the one-eyed stare from the .38 in his hand kept a straight face. I reached into my jacket pocket and fished out a pack of Luckies. I flicked the pack one-handed and a nail popped up half-way out of the pack. And some people say I have no skills.
“Think I’m kidding here, man?”
I tossed the packet towards his face. Amateur that he was, he lifted the pistol up to shield his eyes. That was all I needed. I lunged at his gun arm, grabbed his wrist with my right hand and his elbow with my left. Then I pulled back a little with my right. Not too much. Just enough to make it memorable for him.
I don’t remember which was louder, his scream or his elbow joint popping. I grabbed the gun by the barrel and clocked him just under his right ear. He fell faster than yesterday’s stock prices.
“I’ll keep the hardware, chum. Sleep tight”, I said, but I doubt he heard me. I reminded myself to call 911 when I got back to my apartment.
“You’re getting too old for this, Marlowe”, I murmured to myself. But I’d known that for years.”
************************************************************************
Okay, 12:08am, dammit. I was hoping to get to bed before midnight.
Great photo, Mr Bullet. Thanks for the inspiration, and apologies to Mr Chandler.
!@#!*#@!! How dare you upstage me on my own post!! – LOL
Hey, that was great writing, teeritz! I wish I could write narrative like that. You’ve got some talent there.
My next post shall be a picture of a one-armed clown and a duck playing patty-cake, whilst riding on an elevator. You can get a head start thinking about a story for that one.
Why’d it have to be a duck? I was working on a similar story, except with a dachshund.
I used to drive a dachsund 280Z.
I wanted to buy a Volkswagen Beagle, once.
(Can’t believe it took me two days to come up with that.)
Most of those are stick-shifts, so if the battery dies, at least you can pooch-start it.
(Hey, that’s the best I can do after 4 in the AM.)