Kent time indeed

Bonnie and Guy ignored the eerie wailing from the tsunami sirens in the distance, choosing instead to continue their bout of love-making in the sand. The ocean waves heaved silently, ominously behind them.  

The wind was really beginning to pick up when Guy finally rolled over and collapsed onto his back. They both laid there quietly, their chests heaving heavily. Bonnie released the handfuls of sand she had been clenching onto. Her tight grip had nearly turned the sand into glass.

When Guy's breathing began to subside he rolled over and rested his head on Bonnie's stomach; he looked up at her. 

"We should probably get going, sounds like a storms a-comin."

Bonnie frowned playfully. "But I want to play with Poseidon's trident some more," she teased.

Guy laughed and began to shake the sand out of his bathing suit. Suddenly Bonnie turned around and let out a terrified scream.

Guy turned to face the sea. A towering tsunami was racing towards the shore with terrifying celerity.

As they watched the wave rise up above them, they realized that they were not going to make it to safety before it reached land. 

Reaching into his pocket, Guy took out a half empty carton of Kent cigarettes. He pulled two out with his lips and offered one to Bonnie.

They both agreed that it truly was the perfect time for a Kent cigarette.

June 1966

bird brain

You were never ashamed of having a brain.

Its insatiable thirst for new knowledge.

A burning yearn to learn.

You were never ashamed of having a brain, and you wanted to feed it all that you could. Therefore, it was no surprise that when you got your first big boy paycheck you went and bought yourself a brand new encyclopedia set.

An entire encyclopedia set. A 150-pound heaping of leatherbound-brainfood. A collection of literature heavy enough to crush a cranium.

You placed it on some shelves in the living room of your apartment, amongst some ceramic busts, tiny sculptures, and miniature globes that you accrued at a garage sale. They were what an interior designer would call “smart objects.” They proudly supported your books.

And you had grand plans to read them all! A to Z; from Aztecs to Zaire.

But things didn’t go as planned. You worked long hours at your job. You got promoted. You fell in love. You were too busy learning about life to learn a little more on the side.

You moved into a new house. The books were rented out to your study. You got married, teamed up with your wife to make a kid. You teamed up again to make another another.

The study became a bedroom. The books were demoted to the basement.

And those books just sat there. For years, they collected dust bunnies. The dust bunnies fucked like bunnies and continued to grow. They soon grew to be a small colony. They even formed their own government.

Years later, you decided to have a garage sale of your own. You uncovered the books when you were going through old boxes of shit. And all of the sudden, you felt that spark. The yearn to learn it was back.

You wondered to yourself, when was the first encyclopedia created? 

You went upstairs to your computer and went to Wikipedia.com to find the answer.

You thought again.

What was I thinking that day when I bought an encyclopedia set?

You were ashamed you didn't use your brain.

ball men read playboy

Terry stretched to his left, then to his right. After both hamstrings were sufficiently loosened, he reached into his bag and pulled out a tiny little comb. He proceeded to preen both sides of his upper lip. Terry ran a hand through his hair and fluffed it up real nice.

He was now ready to chase down some tennis balls. Or provide fresh towels to the tennis players in between sets if needed.

In his younger days, Terry had been the most talented ball boy the tennis club had ever seen- his relentless hustle was unsurpassed; his acumen and agility, unprecedented. Years later, as a fully grown man, his legend continued to grow.

Only Terry was no longer a ball boy.

He was now a ball man- one of the best the game had ever seen.

    

*     *     *

After a long hard day of fulfilling the duties bestowed upon a ball man, Terry would enjoy a nice ice bath back at home, because unlike the spry and youthful ball boy of his youth, Terry would be quite sore after spending the day fetching balls and dodging serves. 

On this particular evening, Terry was soaking in the ice bath reading a Playboy when he heard his telephone ring.

He quickly got up and toweled off and hobbled downstairs before it stopped ringing. He picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello," a sultry voice responded. "Is this Terry?"

"It sure is." He stroked his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. "Can I help you?"

"Why yes, I'm hoping that you can. I got your number from the tennis club. I watched you work a couple of matches today. You were quite the impressive ball boy-"

"Ball man." Terry corrected her.

"Yes, I'm sorry, ball man. Anyways, I was calling to let you know, I just got out of the shower, and I could use a fresh towel from a strong and capable ball man."

Terry grinned as he continued to stroke his mustache. "Tell me where your court is and I'll be on my way."

Terry was the sort of man that read Playboy.

July 1970