. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . where ImagInatIon comes to play

Wednesday, 13 April 2011


She had purchased pink slippers. Fuzzy fuchsia pink slippers. The kind Ezra had seen worn by flaky old ladies wearing coats of red lipstick and poorly fitted wigs in one of those Hollywood wannabe movies. Where did you get those? he asked, though what he really meant was why. And in reply she only said, so you like them, Ezra?

Ezra zigzagged passed her into the dimly lit apartment and plopped the paper bag he was carrying onto the kitchen counter. Well, do you like them, or what? she asked again. 

How did you get there? he answered this time, even though ‘there’ had not been established. But it was enough to shift her thoughts.  

Charlene drove us, me and her mom. Wasn’t that nice of her? I would have asked you but I know how busy those...those people keep you. Sucking your life juice is how Charlene put it, I think. I said it before and I’ll say it again, Ezra. You’re just too good for those people. Too good I say.

Ma ... Ezra started putting the groceries away, trying his best not to glance at the fuzzy pink slippers.