Ballard Street Stories

Ted's nonchalant expertise at balance is testament to his past triumphs, having conditioned himself to singular purpose at exponentially increasing speed, his patience is eclipsed only by that of Mayan numerologists.

His present pastime precludes potential paralysis by permitting his partner in pace to parade prior to his person. The forever-loving, eternally supportive, physical buffer, Ginger "Never-Snaps" Ferklewitz never tires, and never fails to balance the thrill of speed with the caution of reality. After the wet concrete incident of '96, and their insurance agent's warning of "This is the last time I look the other way," Ginger looks both ways for them both every day.

"Righty then. Are we ready, Ginger?"

"Ready, Ted!"

Ballard Street Stories

Dolores told her she needed to get out more, but every time Sandra set foot out of condo 16D, she found one more reason to invest in anything that offered "Free delivery".

Dumbstruck at the epitome of dumb dangling at the doorstep, Sandra ponders a time when wooing meant flowers, flowery prose at the front step, and flowery fragrances on Friday nights. It disheartened her that between the patent-pending Buddy Simmons, the Detroit exile Alan Jurgenson, and the insufferable Carl whatshisface, this was the most exciting week of her widowed life. And yet it was only Friday morning.

The complete idiot of a sweetheart Ryan Woodfield knew he faced a formidable line of suitors. Last night's binge with Essex60 filled him with liquid courage and renewed enthusiasm. However, unaccustomed to physical activity at 9:00am, his courage did nothing to improve his dexterity, much less his fool proof plans of sweeping Sandra off her feet... literally. As he swayed slowly in the brisk spring wind, trying to subtly subdue his struggles, Ryan spied Sandra shaking her head sadly.

He groaned inwardly, "Where was Lefty2 when you needed him?"

LN-05

Ballard Street Stories

William “Big Willy” Johnson couldn’t be bothered with the list. The head watchman told him to stick to the list, no exceptions. Whatever. They’re just a bunch of lazy caged animals. Stick to the list… please.

Big Willy was running low on his hash stash and his regular guy was sent to San Diego on monkey business. The mellow croc in sector MJ-420 was his only option. “$60 bucks for the swamp green?!? That’s safari piracy!” Big Willy complained.

“Boo freaking hoo,” mumbled the old croc, “you’re making me cry.”

“Whatever,” Big Willy groaned. As fished out his wallet, he couldn’t help flash back to something on the list, but it was vague. It had to do with the old croc: #8 – Whatever … something. “Whatever indeed.”

A sparkling glitter trail trickled into Big Willy’s peripheral vision. “What the…?” He glanced up and saw what looked like a line of gems forming along the old croc’s snout. As he took the cash from his wallet, Big Willy followed the trail up to the cold, shiny eye. The croc with the diamond eye! Suddenly, the list was crystal clear.

#8 - Whatever you do, don't look him in the eye.

The Story of Achilles

It was one year yesterday that I ruptured my Achilles tendon. I am back on my feet and I would say 90% healed. I still have to "warm up" my ankle every morning, or after sedentary periods but then it's relatively good to go, sometimes lasting even longer than my uninjured leg.

I am still tentative however, perhaps more out of fear than caution, assuming that something WILL suddenly go wrong. But nothing goes wrong, and everyday the fear ebbs away, just a little at a time. I made my first precision jump on Sunday after personally refusing to let today come to pass and not giving it a shot. It was more of a mental leap than physical because it took a while to convince myself to just leap ... landing will be what it may.

I leapt. I landed. I smiled.

And it was good.