...This woman had kept my friend John, who was now gawking at the oddly dressed woman, mighty busy over the last few years. The woman, only known to him as "the ugly woman bubble gum bandit" had been stealing bubble gum machines and cracking them open for the quarters. John had been he FBI agent on this case since the beginning. Several times John had been seconds from catching the thief only to be disapointed. TUWBGB had always left clues at the previous crime scene which pointed to her next target. John would try as best as he could to peice the haphazard clues together and race to the destination only to find that it had just been heisted. Hours later a call would come in saying a Coinstar machine had been used for a large amount of quarters. The servalence tape would always reveal that it was indeed TUWBGB. It was the perfect crime. John always believed on some level that he would never catch her, but to see her now standing in his own living room made him all atingle.
During this whole exchange of bewilderment and odd looks, I was sitting in John's recliner having no clue who this lady was.
John could bairly get the words out, "what are you doing here?" when she began to explain...
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Part 2
This was posted as a comment by "Hi!"...
. . . For no apparent reason his heart leapt within his chest. Not just anyone would dare to battle the deep turns and wide slopes that led up to the steep drive where this dark Cadillac now found its rest. Before he even cracked open the door, he could smell her. Her cheap rose and daisy perfume saturated the air and fried his nose hairs. And there she was, just like he remembered her, with her crazy black curls falling in front of her solitary blue gray eyes. She wore a vibrant, slinky purple gown that flowed well below her feet, not to be discredited by the gaudy gold jewelry that hung from her neck, ears and wrist. She was a small waif of a young woman, barely five feet, with a feather plume that stuck nearly a foot out her hair,and slumped to the side, its red color faded and dingy. . .
. . . For no apparent reason his heart leapt within his chest. Not just anyone would dare to battle the deep turns and wide slopes that led up to the steep drive where this dark Cadillac now found its rest. Before he even cracked open the door, he could smell her. Her cheap rose and daisy perfume saturated the air and fried his nose hairs. And there she was, just like he remembered her, with her crazy black curls falling in front of her solitary blue gray eyes. She wore a vibrant, slinky purple gown that flowed well below her feet, not to be discredited by the gaudy gold jewelry that hung from her neck, ears and wrist. She was a small waif of a young woman, barely five feet, with a feather plume that stuck nearly a foot out her hair,and slumped to the side, its red color faded and dingy. . .
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