Larry's blog

Rick Lambert walked into the executive conference room holding his binder in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He greeted the three people already sitting at the foot of the oblong, mahogany table that filled the room. “Good morning,” he said, as he settled into the seat at the other side of the table, “thanks for coming in today.” Across the table to his left sat Jen Morillo, a serious looking woman in her late thirties, her dirty blonde hair tied back in a bun, and wearing a cream-colored pantsuit. A slight smile curled the sides of her tight lips and she briefly looked up at Rick, but then went back to the paper she was staring at before he came in. To her left, Gary Williams sat in his three-piece charcoal gray suit, looking a bit nervous as he fidgeted with his pen with his right hand. This was his first big professional job interview at 25, and he was immaculately groomed, with his thick, straight black hair combed back, glistening with hair gel. You could smell h...

“What’s your name son?” asked the varsity baseball manager. “Johnny Buzhardt, sir,” replied the young hopeful. “Johnny Bizarre?” “No, Buh-ZART." Nevertheless, his teammates referred to him as Johnny Bizarre. Since Spring training began, he certainly lived up to his nickname. No one at school seemed to know this kid. Even students in his classes were barely aware of him. Yet he showed up on the first day of Spring training claiming he wanted to be a pitcher. He made an unlikely athlete, tall and gangly, all arms and legs, and a string bean of a body. One thing he could do is throw the ball hard, really hard. As a fifteen-year-old sophomore, he threw harder than most college seniors. The first time he threw the ball, heads turned as the ball hit the catcher's mitt with such force that it sounded like firecrackers going off. After about 10 pitches, the catcher had to walk off the field and take off his mitt because his hand was red and swollen from the impact ...

When One came home from school and entered the house, his parents Four and Seven were waiting for him. His father, Seven, looked at him sternly. “What’s the matter?” said One. “What did we tell you about hanging out with negative numbers?” his father asked. One looked down sheepishly. “We were just hanging out after school for a little while. What’s the big deal? They are just like us.” “Just like us!” the father roared back. “There are no such things as negative numbers. Everyone knows you start counting at one. You should be proud that your number comes first. Now these numbers claim they come before you. Have you ever started counting with a negative number? Have you ever seen a negative distance or measured a negative time? No! Distance has to be positive and time always flows forward. The nerve of these negatives to claim to be real numbers like us. Why, in my day we never even heard of them. But there they go, moving into our neighborhood, brazenly carrying their minus si...

The long and winding road seemed endless as it snaked around a lake. Was I just going around in circles? I looked in vain for a street sign or some indication of whether there was someone who lived on this road. When I was just about to give up and retrace my steps back to my car, a figure appeared in the distance. It appeared to be an old man in overalls holding a rake, heading in my direction. When he got close enough, he nodded in my direction, with a look of surprise on his face, as if he didn't expect to encounter someone on this road. "Howdy," he said, can I help you?" "This here is private property." "I'm sorry," I replied in an apologetic voice. "I didn't see a sign. I didn't mean to trespass, but I was looking for a house on Robin Lane. Is this the road that leads there?" The man with the rake smiled and said, "Oh you're looking for old man Robertson. "Lots of folk come here looking for him....

I came out of the night shift at the electric plant on an ordinary Wednesday evening, walked to the corner and made the usual left turn heading for the bus stop and a groggy 45-minute ride home. There was a full moon out and the streets seemed lit brighter than normal this evening. I figured it was due to the full moon until I realized the unusual illumination was from the light in front of a building I never noticed before. When I got closer, I saw the sign in front of the door which said “Museum of Alternate History.” I never heard there was a museum scheduled to open around the corner from the plant. I figured it must not have opened yet, and even if it did, it must be closed by 11 pm. I looked at the door for a list of hours or an admission price. There was nothing on the door, just a glass pane from top to bottom. My curiosity was piqued, so I gingerly turned the handle and was surprised to find I was able to open the door. There was eerie silence that greeted me as I slo...

The prosecutor stared down at the defendant, steely eyed, for a long moment. The defendant, Dan Rosinsky, fidgeted in his seat, but never blinked as he stared back at Robert Jackson, the prosecutor in a Marin County courtroom. Finally, he answered in a firm voice, “No, I did not plan to kill Jane Orman that night at our knife throwing performance. It was a freak accident, something that can always happen despite our best preparation. The act was real. Everything happens just as it looks – no optical illusions, fake knives, or sleight of hand. Naturally there are some risks with this kind of act.” The trial began earlier in the day. Dan was charged with second degree murder of the woman who is known in the industry as a “target girl.” A target girl is a female assistant in "impalement" acts such as knife throwing. Jane would stand in front of a target board while Dan threw knives that would hit the board and just miss Jane, often by a fraction of an inch. They had...

Ron Stander left his office near midtown at 5 PM on a sunny, pleasant Wednesday afternoon. As an executive in the music industry, his interest in R & B and the delta blues belied his conservative, button down looks. People often assumed he was a WASP, but his ancestry also included an Afro-Caribbean mix on his mother’s side, though he looked like the English/Welsh descendants on his father’s side. A man in his mid 40’s, he often wore horn rimmed glasses and was partial to three-piece suits. Though he lived in Manhattan for over twenty years, his musical tastes were influenced by his childhood in northwestern Mississippi, and he still retained a trace of a southern accent as evidence of his origin. He turned the corner on West 59th Street and took the N train downtown. His destination station at Times Square often featured street musicians hustling a few bucks on the platforms. He sometimes tipped them on his way out the station, but rarely stopped to listen. The music almos...

George Martin finished his miserable shift at the usual time and took the same bus that made 23 excruciating stops until it reached his station in the Gravesend section of Brooklyn. Then there was the 14-block walk in the blistering July heat until he reached the humble, bungalow style house he had inherited from his mother a few years before. The house was aging and crumbling much the way he was at 57-years old. He looked and felt a lot older than his years. Forty years of manual labor will do that to a man, as his craggy, weather-beaten face will attest to. After forty years, he didn't have much to show for it, staying as the same job he started as a teenager. The kind of job usually done by immigrants from Latin America and the Caribbean who were generally, much younger, faster and stronger than him. It was only a short matter of time when he couldn't do it anymore. Then he would have really nothing left, no family, friends, or money to live his few remaining years i...

Gary drove down the familiar twisted dirt roadways that snaked through the back woods of North Carolina. It reminded him of when his dad Rick first taught him to drive when he was 16. It felt so far away now in both years and location. A half century ago he thought, and a totally different world from the frenetic life he has long lived in LA. He regretted not coming back sooner, but there was always something preventing the trip and relations with his father cooled in recent years. The phone calls had become less frequent and they always seemed to end in a fight. Rick had become even more stubborn and set in his ways as he became an old man, with his old-fashioned views becoming even more out of step with the times. Gary always intended to come back, to have this big reconciliation, but he ran out of time. He got the horrible news that dad died of a sudden and massive heart attack the day before and that was that. There had been no warning. Sure, dad was 86, but he seemed so...

Liz checked the rear view in the full-length mirror while she adjusted her skintight, blue, spandex dress. “Do you think this dress is too short?” she asked. Zoe glanced at Liz and replied, “Honey, that dress is so short I can see your IUD.” “Not if I keep my legs together, Liz replied. “Honey, you haven’t kept your legs together since you were twelve. Why start now?” Zoe shot back. Liz scrunched her nose and asked, “Why are you being so mean to me?” “You’re not on the streets anymore. Agencies like higher caliber, classy women,” said Zoe, a veteran of the agency that Liz recently joined. “So? I can do that,” replied Liz. Liz’s cell phone rang and she picked it up after glancing at the caller ID. “Hello Steve” “Liz, I have a job for you this weekend. We have a wealthy client coming in town tonight. He’s the CEO of a multibillion-dollar company. All our classy high-end types are booked for this weekend. We do not want to lose this client and there are a lot of othe...