Stephan Bailey: A Valise of Doubt
“You’ve got this all wrong,” Tim Derr said to his best friend of thirty years, Stephan Bailey who sat next to him on a stool at a tavern in Miami called, 305 Brass. “First and foremost compadre, as a person who has known you the most, and the best wingman that a guy looking for a girl could ask for—it’s not a blind date.”
“Remember when Tara and I went to an all-inclusive in Key West?” Tim asked.
“Of course,” Stephan said.
“Well,
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Rotted Orange among the Apple Orchards
A man from Miami wearing brown sandals, drawstring tan pants and a white guayabera appeared large between dead apple orchards. Two turkey vultures pecked on his body nailed between the long grass blades with a bullet. Their beaks had been breaking his skin since the scent stirred the air of a farm field in the eight hours of his death. The body was later identified by the sister of the deceased man: Charlie Snow.
Twelve hours earlier at the Merry Mountain
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Captain's Boat
“I’ve been weeping for a mighty long time. Yes, I’ve been weeping for a mighty long time.”
Kim Whistler sang The Five Blind Boys song as if she was in the Overtown Baptist Church choir. She sang with the harmony of happiness and claps of praise. But she was three blocks and one little boy from the church. Her voice bounced off the inside of the boat as the acoustics allowed the sadness to sink into the old sea worn wood of a boat, forty feet in length.
In this neighborhood
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Tibby's Howl of Freedom
“I can’t find Tibby?” a rattled 10 years old girl named Rica said to her mother Britely who was cooking in the kitchen.
Together they frantically ran out of the apartment, down a flight of wet stairs and outside where Rica last saw her dog.
“Which way did she run?” Britely said.
“She saw a black cat, started to bark, and then,” Rica paused to catch her breath, “Tibby jerked and the leash slipped from my hand. I’m sorry momma—I’m sorry!” Rica began
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David Bowie
—In Memory of an Innovative Performer
As a “Young American” I listened to David Bowie. Many years would pass and I would be “Under Pressure” as an adult, but those “Changes” were for the better in my life. Eventually, the “Golden Years” gave me opportunities to celebrate with many knowing that, We can be Heroes, just for one day.
Ground control to Major Tom, there is a “Ziggy Stardust” in the sky tonight.
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Azucar in the Guest House
“Sarita, I have a large package for you,” said Garcia the mailman. “I can tell by your obvious expression, this must be very important to you.” He hands her the box along with a few pieces of mail.
“Gracias Señor Garcia,” she responds looking at the address with a smile.
“I can smell your abuella is preparing dinner, please tell her I said hello.”
“Si, Señor Garcia, I will tell my grandmother when I go inside.”
Sara, or Sarita as she is known
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A Word about the Weather in Miami
(Whether or not we like it!)
OP, Errol D’Mint
Miami—The stormy weather patterns for the greater Miami area had played tricks on the local weather women who forecasted that Saturday, the 4th of December, would be different from Friday. Needless to say, they were correct—it was worse. I should have expected the weather to worsen due to the language offered by the local morning television weather women. Miami’s tropical storms, scheduled to dissipate
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Pair-a-Dice
I rolled from Brickell to Miami Beach on a bus bound for something new. There were more people than my small town up North, just a few. I sat beside the window to shoulder the afternoon sun and islands to the south. I was between businesses of cut throat commerce and the colorful fossil facades. I exited the bus, a transient trolley of sort, to reach the beach. I didn't have to think twice because the scene was real nice, thirty years later after I rolled a pair of dice.
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Sparrow's Nest
DING! DING!
“Oh C’mon man...are you kidding me...I can’t even enjoy a lunch break.”
DING! DING!
“I’m coming!” Jack screamed as he rushed through the garage to the gas pumps of the Sparrow service station in Belle Vernon, Pennsylvania.
“Ok, that’s enough,” he said under his breath.
There are no vehicles at the two gas pump islands. Just a scrawny kid named Anthony on his white and blue BMX bike. Anthony laughed from the top of his lungs at a nearby parking
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Retirement in the Everglades
When they submerged Cantor’s body in the sawgrass marsh, there were gators that tore and gnawed until his five feet two inches frame was green and raw from the eventual decomposition. However, the human remains of Cantor’s departure remained relevant because of a father and son fishing trip. Gerry Torre’s nine year old son told his dad that he caught an Oscar, but to Gerry’s shock it was not a fish. It could be the possible missing person from the Miami Herald
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Short Stories & Literary Reviews
