On Sunday, the weekly card game came around. Mr. Wok was more excitable than usual due to the addition of Mamet to the group of older men. As per usual, Mrs. Wok supplied egg rolls for the group and Mr. Wok wore his cards on his face. Mr. Wok was a terrible player yet the men gathered week after week for the food, company, and cigars. During the card game, Mamet griped over the musty smell of the back room of the Tavern and the fact that he couldn’t seem to win a game. Occasionally, the men thought they heard something about “a rigged game” under his breath.

After about two hours of playing and $10 won, Everett and the other men decided to call it a night. Once Everett walked outside of the Tavern he spotted the man from the watch repair shop. He had never seen him outside of the shop but now he was with his sons. Oliver seemed tired but also intent on absorbing some of his sons’ energy and liveliness. Everett nodded in his direction remembering how he had repaired his father’s old pocket watch about a month before. Oliver smiled and gave Everett a wave in return.

Oliver’s sons were about the age of Everett’s daughter, Belinda, when he left to move to New York. While Everett moved to New York because of a very high-profile trial, he also left his family. In the end, Everett had the satisfaction of defending three innocent men involved in a mob-related shooting. One of the black and white photos on Everett’s wall was of himself and these three men, well dressed with big bellies, wearing fedoras and smiles on their faces. The success of the not guilty verdict brought him other clients involved in organized crime and with that, lots of money and fame in his field. Everett enjoyed the money and fame but was never fulfilled by what he did. He intended to keep in touch and visit his daughter as frequently as possible but now, as she had become a grown woman with a career of her own, the extent of their relationship lie in the greeting cards they sent each other on the appropriate occasions.

Everett was generally a very happy retiree. He had his hobbies and his memories but the knowledge that he was never close with his own daughter never sat well with him. The sight of Oliver with his own sons, so young, saddened Everett. Walking briskly over to the pharmacy/gift shop, Everett bought a box of plain stationary. The young woman at the counter said with a slight southern accent, “I’m so glad somebody still writes letters. Getting a letter in the mail is just lovely.” Once back in his apartment, Everett carefully wrote the letter and sealed it.

Everett's apartment was similar in style to the men's parlour of a country club. His dark green walls were covered in black and white photographs of his younger self with friends and family. There were two leather arm chairs separated by a small wooden table with a lamp and ash tray. Two large bookshelves lined his walls. Each was filled with a variety of books, magazines, and photo albums. On the bottom shelf of one of the bookshelves was a sizable stack of incomplete manuscripts.
Not far from his living room was a small dining area with small yet heavy looking tables and chairs. A semi-completed crossword puzzle lay in front of Everett as he sat in the chair facing the window. He leaned close in, his thick-rimmed reading glasses only a few inches from the paper. He worked diligently for another 15 minutes until it was almost full. Saving the last few answers for later, Everett took off his reading glasses and rose from the table. As he walked to the door he tucked the rest of his newspaper under his arm and locked his door behind him.
In the hallway, Everett spotted his neighbor, Artie, cornered by Mr. Wok. He couldn't quite make out what Mr. Wok was saying at first but as he moved closer he heard something about Mrs. Wok's nail salon. As Artie listened she seemed to be battling fatigue and at times having trouble understanding through the thick accent.
When Everett got closer to the two he said, "Oh, Good Evening Artie. I uh, I'm so glad you're back. Thanks so much for watching my Iguana for me. I'll take her back now, she's probably homesick anyways."
Everett herded Artie into the door and gave a friendly nod in Mr. Wok's direction. Once inside the door, Everett spotted the everpresent grey smudge on Artie's cheek. She looked through the peephole and smiled. All of the tenants of Thallow Flats loved Mr. Wok dearly but at the wrong time, Mr. Wok's conversational stamina could be overwhelming. Artie walked to the back room of her apartment and returned carrying a small clear tank.
"Alrighty, here you are. Connie behaved very well. No trouble at all. "
"Thanks a million. I didn't want the poor girl to freeze. Luckily, the heat in my place got fixed this morning," said Everett taking the tank from Artie.
"Well I'll see you around Mr. Carson," said Artie opening the door.
"And remember," said Everett, "I want to know when you're having another one of your shows. An old man like me needs nice things to look at."
Everett returned to his apartment, placed Connie's tank in the corner, and went back out the door. Once in the elevator, Everett detected a very distinct, expensive smelling cologne. He recalled the day before as the young man with the slick hair directed the fat movers with his ornate furniture.
Leaving Thallow Flats, Everett walked in the direction of the diner. While he enjoyed walking during the evening, sometimes the smells wafting over from the ethnic food store made him lose his appetite. Everett couldn't help but smile thinking of the recent additions to the neighborhood: the ethnic food store, root emporium, and fortune teller. He couldn't even recall such places existing when he was young.
Entering the diner, Everett opened his newspaper. He took the arts and entertainment section with a special feature on jazz and took it to Pokey's booth nearby. Removing one ear of his headphones, Pokey muttered a soft "thank you" and Everett took his stool at the counter. He unfolded the rest of his newspaper and began to finish the crossword puzzle he had started that morning.

Everett Carson struggled to keep up with his own ideas as he pecked away at his old fashioned typewriter. After 30 minutes of furious typing, Everett reached a lull in his ideas heaved a heavy sigh. He had written a full five pages of his new courtroom thriller. A retired lawyer, Everett had few activities to fill his abundance of free time. As Everett leaned back in his chair, he lit a cigar, and took a celebratory puff.
After a few moments of relaxation, Everett sat up and pulled on his Wallabees. He stood up, tightened his suspenders, and headed for the door. Leaving the apartment building, he noticed Mr. Wok picking up his mail.
"Afternoon, Mr. Wok," said Everett, smiling.
"Ah, hello Everett. See you at the card game this week?" replied Mr. Wok through his thick accent.
Everett nodded in reply and headed out the door and onto the sidewalk. As he reached the pharmacy the bell rang and a young woman looked up from the counter and smiled.
Everett smiled in return as he headed straight for the greeting cards and bought the first one he picked up: one with a kitten wearing a sombrero. Hope your Birthday is one big Fiesta! read the inside of the card.
"Ok, good enough," muttered Everett to himself.
After he paid for the card and stamp, he addressed it to Belinda Carson in Arizona and dropped it in the mailbox just outside the pharmacy. On his way back to his apartment, he caught a glimpse of himself in the window of the All-American tattoo parlor. He almost didn't recognize himself. The once subtle lines and wrinkles around his eyes and mouth were now prominent. He quickly looked away, put his hands in his pockets, and headed back towards his apartment building.

el BLOG

Profesora no entiende espanol entonces, quiero decir a ella que mis blogs son los mejores en el mundo. Actualamente, si quiero, puedo escribir en "gibberish" porque no es diferente en los ojos de ella.

PS beisbol bin berry berry good to me