tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post3722363706070680604..comments2023-12-06T00:48:23.734-08:00Comments on Daily Writing Practice: Wednesday October 28th, 2015Marchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14952331166517430843noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post-64012650616048547262015-10-30T01:20:28.402-07:002015-10-30T01:20:28.402-07:00Greg - ah, you got me there. I'd meant to make...Greg - ah, you got me there. I'd meant to make it clear that these were the five *final* trucks (the other twenty or so had already come and gone).<br /><br />I quite like this scene. For all of the characters in play and the location, it was surprisingly... normal :PMarchttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14952331166517430843noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post-50463590299344970012015-10-29T02:24:40.939-07:002015-10-29T02:24:40.939-07:00I guess it's hard to theme animals around Hall...I guess it's hard to theme animals around Hallowe'en unless you happen to have a couple of undead hanging around. And they're often not very pettable if you do.... It's nice that they made an effort though, and it looks (from the photo) like the kids were enjoying themselves there :) Although I suppose they could have tried to find a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jackalope" rel="nofollow">Jackalope</a>.<br />Heh, I like the way you portray the awkwardness of the kid wanting to know what all the lumber is for; he definitely comes to life in the piece today. And the punchline isn't bad either, though I'm not sure that only five trucks will be enough :-P<br /><br /><b>The lumber yard</b><br />"Hey you!"<br />Across the lumber yard the young man in the chef's jacket looked up. In one hand he had a couple of squares of oak and there was a clear plastic bag of wood shavings at his feet. He looked over at the shouter, and waved a hand hesitantly.<br />"Who are you?" The man doing the shouting, Henry, clumped over, favouring his good leg. It had been a wet week and his bad hip ached abominably. "What are you doing in here? We're closed!"<br />The young man shook his head; his eyes were red rimmed and half-closed; Henry couldn't decide if he was drugged or just sleep-deprived. "Sorry," he said. "Sorry, the guy at the gate said I could come in."<br />"Norm? Norm!"<br />The shouting produced a short guy almost as wide as he was tall from out of a ramshackle shed that served an office.<br />"Henry, for God's sake stop shouting. Too much green whiskey last night, and that was just you!"<br />"Norm, did you let this guy here in?"<br />Norm looked at the young man, who smiled hesitantly and then hid a yawn behind a scarred hand.<br />"Yep," he said. "Nice kid, he's a chef at <i>Leo's</i>. He can't get in here when we're normally open."<br />"Huh. Fine. Keep the noise down then." Henry stumped off, chewing his lower lip and staring around looking for anything else wrong he could shout about.<br />"How you getting on there, kid?" asked Norm. "Find what you're after?"<br />"You got some more of these?" The young man held up the squares of oak. "I reckon I can build a pretty decent smoker from these, and the oak should add a subtle flavour."<br />"Hmm," said Norm. "Well, I think we might have a couple of old whiskey barrels round the back; can't guarantee they're oak, but let's go see."<br />Greghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08503319830584828982noreply@blogger.com