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Christine and the Great Lazy River Uprising

By George on
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  Christine never swam laps. She wasn’t training for the Olympics — she was training for relaxation. Her favorite form of exercise was drifting slowly in her donut raft , eyes half-closed, one hand trailing lazily in the water like she was auditioning for a commercial about peace and quiet. But these days, peace and quiet had gone extinct. What used to be a calm community pool was now a “Family Splash Adventure Experience” — a water park so loud it could probably be heard from orbit. Christine still showed up, raft under her arm, determination in her flip-flops. She plopped herself into the lazy river, hoping for her usual gentle float. Instead, the current swept her straight past Pirate Cove Splash Zone, through Mega Dump Bucket Falls, and directly under a water cannon manned by three eight-year-olds on a sugar high. “Ma’am, that’s a high-splash area,” a teenage lifeguard called out helpfully. Christine glared, her mascara already running down her cheeks like battle pai...
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Too Much Halloween? Not for Armani Fletcher.

By George on
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  Armani Fletcher doesn’t just like Halloween — she breathes it, dreams it, and probably bleeds orange and black. While most people pick up a pumpkin and a bag of candy each October, Armani treats Halloween like a competitive sport. Every year, she hits every art and craft show within driving distance, hunting for the next great decoration that will “complete the look” of her already overstuffed haunted empire. Vendors at the county fairs know her by name. The moment they see that determined sparkle in her eye and the pumpkin spice latte in her hand, they brace themselves. Armani doesn’t ask for discounts. She doesn’t flinch at the price tag. If it glows, cackles, spins, or screams, she buys it. “How much?” she asks. “Three hundred.” “I’ll take two,” she says without blinking. Her friends have stopped trying to reason with her. When one of them asked, “Where are you even going to put all this?” Armani simply replied, “The bathtub’s free for now.” By mid-October, her house becomes...
Location: Missouri, USA
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Land of Milk & Honey (Keep the Promise)

By George on
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  They play “America the Beautiful” on the corner by the grocery—three buskers with a dented trumpet, a snare, and a bass that’s seen more winters than hope. Behind them, a billboard-sized flag ripples like a promise you can’t quite cash. Hank—retired trucker, bad knees, good back until it wasn’t—leans into the dumpster with Mabel, a former nurse who can still thread an IV by touch. They aren’t looking for gourmet; they’re looking for calories. A cracked milk carton drips. A honey packet sticks to Mabel’s glove. She laughs once, a dry sound. “Land of milk and honey,” she says. “We got the labels right.” If you asked Hank what he gave this country, he’d answer without poetry: four million miles of freight and a lifetime of FICA clipped from every paycheck. He hauled drywall for schools and grain for bread and Halloween candy for kids he’d never meet. When bridges shuddered under his rig, he remembered the crews who poured the concrete in August heat—and the taxes they paid, same a...
Location: Missouri, USA
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The Sunflowers That Waited

By George on
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    Evan hadn’t planned to be in the mall that day. Most people didn’t, not anymore. Half the stores had gone dark, their gates pulled down like heavy eyelids, and the few that remained were either struggling clothing outlets or strange pop-ups that sold scented candles and cellphone cases. But it was hot outside, and he needed somewhere to wander while the afternoon sun cooled down. He leaned against the wooden railing on the second floor, the one that curved toward the food court. The wood was old, polished by thousands of hands, warm to the touch. He didn’t know why, but his fingers lingered there. And then it happened. The mall… shifted. The hum of the modern air conditioning vanished, replaced with the faint tinny sound of disco spilling from a record shop. The air smelled of popcorn and new vinyl. Shoppers bustled past in bell-bottoms, their shopping bags fat with records and paperback books. Evan yanked his hand away. The mall snapped back. Empty again, save for a ...
Location: Missouri, USA
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The Engineer’s Fear

By George on
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   Henry Malone had spent half his life in the cab of a steam locomotive. The firebox roar was his lullaby, the hiss of steam his constant companion. But for all the pride of wearing the cap and the overalls, he carried a secret no one else suspected: fear. It wasn’t the miles of track or the schedule that unnerved him—it was the maze of knobs and wheels staring back from the backhead of the boiler. Red handles, brass levers, steel gauges. To the passengers behind him, it was all mystery. To Henry, it was life or death. “Turn the injector valve too far,” he thought, “and you starve the boiler. Pull the blower wrong and you snuff the fire. God help me if I twist the wrong wheel at speed—pressure builds, water drops, the engine jumps the rails.” In his mind’s eye, he saw it: a mountain curve taken too fast, the great locomotive leaping like a wounded beast, steel shrieking, cars tumbling, bodies broken. All because his hand had faltered. Every run was a silent battle. His cre...
Location: Missouri, USA
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The Great Beach Contrast

By George on
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  On the very same afternoon that Old Man Determination was power-walking like his shoes were on fire, just twenty feet away sat his complete opposite: The Lord of Leisure. Sunglasses on, legs stretched, one arm draped across the bench like he owned the coastline. This guy wasn’t just sitting — he was practicing the art of advanced relaxation. Clouds moved faster than he did. When Old Man Determination zoomed by, muttering about ice cream trucks and world records, the Lounger didn’t flinch. He just tilted his head slightly and thought: “That’s a lot of sweat for a popsicle.” Children splashed, dogs barked, seagulls plotted their crimes — but the Lounger was unshaken. Rumor has it he once held a Guinness record for “longest time pretending to be a bench ornament.” And that’s when it hit me: these two men weren’t enemies. They were yin and yang of beach life. One chasing cones at Mach 2. The other chasing absolutely nothing, because chasing requires effort. The beach need...
Location: Missouri, USA
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The Old Man on a Mission

By George on
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  On that cloudy afternoon, while families splashed in the water and kids built sandcastles, one old man had no time for nonsense. His stride was long, his sneakers squeaked with authority, and his arms pumped like pistons. This was no leisurely beach stroll. No, sir. He was a man with a mission . Some said he was headed to the pier to confront the seagull that had stolen his sandwich last summer. Others swore he was trying to beat his personal best for the "Beachfront Speed-Walk Championship," a competition nobody but him knew existed. But the truth was simpler, and far more urgent: The ice cream truck was circling the parking lot, and this old warrior wasn’t about to let a bunch of toddlers beat him to the last drumstick cone. Every wrinkle on his determined face said the same thing: “Get out of my way, I’m fueled by prune juice and spite.” By the time he reached the boardwalk, kids were still fumbling for quarters, parents digging through purses. But not him. Exact c...
Location: Missouri, USA
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