Today dear readers, we will examine the latest follower of this humble blog. Why would be the first question, then what might follow in wanting to know what has brought this unknown lover of the short story to the back steps, the virtual chipped concrete edges and rusted railing of our back porch, directly into the arms of the woman that I would like to call my own, but most likely has known a lover or two before me?
Lola just sat there, reading an article in the latest edition of “White Rabbit Monthly – a New Communist Threat in our hutches? ” while her mate, B. was busy with his chalkboard, preparing to make note of their latest follower, Mr. Long Shot of Schenectady, or one of its suburbs.
“What” was the first words out of the mouth of my lover today. The very first utterance to grace the humble ear-waves of this man, who she knew to be her best friend, her constant companion, who drove her to the edge of insanity, only to pull her back in the Nick of Time, who ran the little Clock Shop in Downtown Soldotna. Nick had a Knack for timepieces, but would the watch on his chain tell him, when this woman of mystery would again need her needs satisfied, and was he, no not Nick, but the man with one puny muscle, the man who could satisfy them?
“Lola Dear” said the man whose fingers were itching uncontrollably. “Have you seen the chalk anywhere? I’ve got a hankering to write the name of Mr Long Shot, before he changes his mind and places his bets elsewhere!”
Betting on long-shots were not an unknown phenomena to Lola. Just look at the man who she chose to share her existence with. Who would have known that from the the first nanosecond of their meeting, The EDO Ram of their shared interests would have combined to assure the smooth operation of Windows 95 at a time when others were still sneezing DOS out of their noses!
“Why don’t you tempt fate again at that crosswalk at the bottom of Lemming Hill” she suggested, as she got up to make a cup of Classic Tundra Tea with cinnamon flourishes.
Never one to deny himself a challenge, he pushed the chalkboard aside and started to limber up for the event. Lola tied his favorite red flag on his backside in order to complete the circle of events that once made her drop her handkerchief from the grandstands in Homer Alaska, showing the man running from that Red Bull that caffeine really does have a kick in it!
As they stood there waiting for the next Land Yacht to top the nearby horizon, Lola planted a kiss on his forehead, with the promise of more, if and when he survived the race to those striped lines, and the awaiting prize on the other side, a Maple Bar from the Moose is Loose Bakery in Soldotna!
Lola bent down, then took the chalk out of her pocket, then started to draw the line dividing him from his dreams of glory and his demise! Just another Road Kill on the Highways and Byways of the Great State of Alaska, just waiting for his chance to –
“Wait a minute” said Lola, straightening up and looking at the Photo Teaser placed inside the blog, as it to tempt the imagination of Mr Long Shot of Schenectady to see what others who only dream about living and breathing the Alaskan Air would, could see!
“Doesn’t it say something about “Canada” on those RV’s?”
B. just stood up and faced her, noticing how the sunlight reflected in her hair, so reminiscent of that one defining moment, after narrowly escaping from that bull, to be able to look up into the eyes of the woman, with her saying those immoral words, “Stop looking down my blouse, You Dolt!”
“Gosh Lola. I just used the best picture to describe our current situation. Just take “Canad” and replace it with “Alask”, and we’ll put the whole nasty episode aside for now!”
With that being said, with the RV at the top of the hill with Mr and Mrs Long Shot from Schenectady, eating their Moose Chips and Cinnamon-flavored Penguin Puffers, the race began, with a shot that was heard round Soldotna!
“What if?” was a question that was pursed upon his lips, as the RV started its lumbersome movement down Lemming Hill. “He pushed all of those thoughts out of his mind as he poised to make a sprint across the jaws of death, while his Muse, holding a bible in one hand and a Maple Bar in the other, while someone fired the shot that-
“Who is that other someone?” asked Lola, as the two combatants were just about to meet their destiny in that lonesome crosswalk, somewhere along the Sterling Highway, while-
“but what if the Shots really are from Canada?” he asked, as the RV zoomed across the finish line, with Mrs Shot parading the Maple Bar over her head, then the both of them drove off into the Alaskan Sunset!
Back at home, with eraser in hand, he removed the latest follower to this, at times, very confusing blog, and hummed a little tune instead. “Just think about it Lola. You might have been wearing Black right now, if my time had come today at that lonesome spot on the Sterling Highway?”
Lola resumed reading her magazine, wondering how to errabiticate those Commie Devils parading around as innocents in their white fur, then saying, “You always did prefer my black negligee, didn’t you?”
“Gosh Lola. What a sexy thing to say at the end of this blog!”
-and that too faded into black……