Sunday School
Here’s NYC’s new device to punish those who park illegally. One of the ways to unlock it is by paying by smart phone. The victim is then obligated to return it to a nearby drop box. Photo from Daily Mail/Google Images:
Headline from nypost.com: “99 Cent Only Stores shutting down all 371 locations due to inflation and theft.”
Conditions were better at today’s session of the Anti-Inflation Book Shop, plenty of sunshine but still a stiff, cold breeze. My thanks to the woman who bought the eight-hour Our Gang DVD, and to Wolf, who purchased The Lincoln Myth by Steve Berry and four books in Russian.
Here’s an excerpt from my latest short story, a couple of minutes read.
Zero
Dan Allegria tossed and turned through troubled sleep. It had been this way since the death of his beloved Bea, who was recently taken by cancer at 70. Despite an exemplary life, she’d suffered excruciating pain at the end, abandoned by the God she fervently trusted. Dan had ceased believing long ago, first as a know-it-all freshman, then through observation and reason, aghast at the horrors the unfortunate endured. Still, he envied those who believed. Most were a lot happier than he was.
When he opened his eyes he immediately noticed the cloaked figure, a blend of the benevolent and sinister, seated at the edge of Bea’s side of the bed.
Am I dead? he thought.
“No, you’re not,” said the soothing voice.
Why was he relieved? Hadn’t he been hoping to die in his sleep?
“Come with me, Dante” said the figure, rising, staff in hand.
“Nobody calls me that.”
“That’s your name, isn’t it?”
“Call me Dan.”
“Whatever.”
“I have classes to teach.”
“You’ll be back before you know it.”
“Let me shave.” Dan ran a hand across his face and was surprised to find it smooth, as if he’d already taken a razor to it.
“Just put on your robe.”
Although it was worn, he wouldn’t part with it, as it was a birthday gift long ago from Bea.
As they stepped out of the modest Long Island home, Dan gasped. The landscape he’d known and loved was barren, shrouded by clouds.
“Don’t be afraid. Grab hold of my cloak.”
Dan was reminded of the ghosts who’d visited Scrooge. “Who are you?”
“You know me well.”
It soon came to him. “Virgil?”
“Whatever.”
More like two-faced Janus, Dan thought.
“I heard that. You can’t keep secrets from me.”
Last night Dan had watched a fine PBS program on The Divine Comedy, specifically the Inferno, a sort of Cliff Notes approach augmented by beautiful visuals and the commentary of scholars whose thoroughness dwarfed his own. It was one of the classics he did not appreciate, as it was so judgmental. He hadn’t liked a single epic poem he’d read. The only quote he remembered was from Milton’s Paradise Lost: “Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.” He’d forced himself to read them, to push the boundaries of his intellect.
Photo from GI:
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