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Salty Angler 12.14.16 Reviewed in Konk Life

The Dangling Salty Digiddy Dog Angler, or whatever it’s called, the new restaurant, as of a year and a bit. The corner of Duval and Amelia has changed names more often than a wanted felon. The turn over was sometimes due to bad management (read: extreme cocaine habits) or the Feds via the Health Department (read: overrun with varmint). Therefore this corner is cursed. Can the Damned Raggedy Filthy Angling Fishe
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Say Hello

You awaken, it could be any day, at any time. The clock reads one minute after midnight and that means, after some basic calculations, it’s your birthday. Sickening thought. Officially old. You don a jacket over your ankle length nightdress and pull on a hat. You do not stop in front of the hall mirror on the way out. The lock clacks shut behind. You hide your key in a clot of threads of a banyan and carefully
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The Big Room

In the kitchen sometimes from boredom you’d open cabinets. These cabinets were empty, shelves wiped clean leavening nothing but streaks. You’d rather food, you were always hungry. There was nothing apart from curvy silver pots filled with pebbles of dark sugar to be served with coffee for guests. Guests visited often. These charades were faintly traumatizing. From when the doorbell trilled, to being dispa
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He Should Not

Cross-legged he sat on a mound of moss beside the ravine when a glinting bottle bobbed along. A bottle he recognized as the finest of local whiskeys. A favorite, and he hooked it with his walking stick. Turned out within it, downed galleon, was a letter, protected from the water with a cork from County Cork, no less. The best. The note, penned in ox-blood ink from a quill of gold flecks, spoke words to crack a man’s
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Fences

There was a tremendous noise as the patio doors blew open, and you blasted into your host’s den. Casually you strode through, except you were not alone. In bed, napping on that hot afternoon the tiger stirred and sat up and glared, wide-eyed blinking and evidently seething. You both stared, shocked, bewildered, both of you overtly disappointed.   “I’m getting my stuff,” you muttered, flustered
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Leopard

The island feels lighter now that you’re gone. Lighter, brighter and better without you. Hopefully forever but doubtful. I know you cannot stay away. You blew on out with your new girl and your old bad habits. You have her believing things will be different, now that all is new. You’ve both agreed to delude yourselves. In psycho-parlance it’s termed ‘a geographic’. When you move fast lik
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Boys and Toys

“I gotcha!” he thought, watching her figuring she was older than he. Since turning twenty he’d enjoyed a decade of women vying for his attention. He was habituated to pockets filled with phone numbers. She dawdled along alone preoccupied and when he ‘bumped’ into her, she said, “Excuse me.” Except this was no accident and he maneuvered immaculately, “I have been looking
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Florida’s Finest

I needed to drive my car somewhere to do something. Except I could not find my car. It was not where I had left it up which was parked out front of my house. It was gone. I moseyed down the street. I took longer walks around even farther blocks pressing the panic button on my keychain. I came home in a state of shock. I’ve never had a car stolen before. I wasn’t sure who to call. So I called my friend who
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Mountain Dogs

Vuk, a man with a background no two villagers could agree on, ran the cafe in the small mountain town. Vuk, which in Serbian means wolf, was from the Balkans, the forested area, picking plums in the summer, and clearing brandy glasses from the scuffed wooden tables of the town cafe in the wintertime. He was often teased, especially on nights of a full moon, where he might suck down too much, until he was aslant. And
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