Daily writing prompts from June 9th, 2008 to December 31st, 2022
Friday April 27th, 2018
The exercise: On Location Week, day five. Write four lines of prose (or more, if you're trying to tie this week together) which take place in: a parking lot.
The parking lot One more thing to do, thought Red. The studios and the dog were well behind him now and he was nearly half-way across town. The bust of the Mayor was annoying him though and there was no way he was failing to let people know about that. There was something very unhealthy about it. He dropped down from the roofs and sauntered casually along the sidewalk until he came to the parking lot by the 7-11, and then he pulled the soft canvas bag from his shoulder and selected a spray-can.
Emma woke, a familiar beeping pulling her out of a dream about an art gallery where all the guests were throwing drinks over one another. She lay there, staring at the ceiling for a moment, wondering why this felt both strange and familiar at the same time, and then she understood: Red hadn't texted her in the middle of the night since... since the whole Wilkerson thing had started. She rolled over and checked her phone. Ah Red. Just an address. She cursed him softly and got dressed -- at least it was nearly 6am and she would have been getting up in an hour anyway. Let's see what he'd done this time. When she saw the mural she was impressed, and rather annoyed that she wasn't the only one taking pictures of it.
At the Public Works yard there's a small parking lot by the front entrance. Everybody's got their spot, though there are precisely zero labels and exactly no lines. It's just gravel.
And heaven forbid you park in the wrong spot. To be clear, though, the crew don't seem to care too much about it. The foreman, on the other hand...
3 comments:
The parking lot
One more thing to do, thought Red. The studios and the dog were well behind him now and he was nearly half-way across town. The bust of the Mayor was annoying him though and there was no way he was failing to let people know about that. There was something very unhealthy about it. He dropped down from the roofs and sauntered casually along the sidewalk until he came to the parking lot by the 7-11, and then he pulled the soft canvas bag from his shoulder and selected a spray-can.
Emma woke, a familiar beeping pulling her out of a dream about an art gallery where all the guests were throwing drinks over one another. She lay there, staring at the ceiling for a moment, wondering why this felt both strange and familiar at the same time, and then she understood: Red hadn't texted her in the middle of the night since... since the whole Wilkerson thing had started. She rolled over and checked her phone.
Ah Red. Just an address. She cursed him softly and got dressed -- at least it was nearly 6am and she would have been getting up in an hour anyway. Let's see what he'd done this time.
When she saw the mural she was impressed, and rather annoyed that she wasn't the only one taking pictures of it.
Greg - ah, this one really brings me back. I'm curious as to what exactly he painted, but I suppose I could come up with a few reasonable options...
The parking lot inspiration:
At the Public Works yard there's a small parking lot by the front entrance. Everybody's got their spot, though there are precisely zero labels and exactly no lines. It's just gravel.
And heaven forbid you park in the wrong spot. To be clear, though, the crew don't seem to care too much about it. The foreman, on the other hand...
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