http://slow.writerscafe.org/paulmo The original writings of author Paul Morris en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776013755 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 On one balmy late August evening, with a look of odd anticipation, Mr. Jackson stood by the door.  It seemed like he should have been at work, but Stan knew his nine to five was anything but.  Something ambiguous about his clothes or how he was carrying himself clued Stan that he’d a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/paulmo/1901202/ The next day Stan stretched on his new bed, seeped in its softness, while guiding coaxed streams of thoughts to delve into his sudden good fortune.  These were the softest sheets he’d ever felt - maybe the softest anything he’d ever felt.  He stared at the ceiling.  Gold .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/paulmo/1901201/ “Over theya man, nail tha mothafucka!” “Where?”  Jackie screamed.   Competing noises forced Jackie to raise his voice.  Wind rushed in through his car’s open windows; the radio pumped loud bass like a second, erratic heartbeat; the tires shrieked as.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/paulmo/1901200/ “Mr. J, man.  This place is somethin' else.  Wow.”Time kept doing its thing, the only thing it could do, steadily replacing the future with the past.  The entire final week of May was cloudy, with the air so thickly humid that if rain would ever finally answer all of the .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/paulmo/1901197/ Stan sat in the living room, his butt tilted into a deep dip furrowed over the years into the Jennings' couch.  The television was stuck on some entertainment show; stuck since Stan didn't feel like getting up to change it.  Stan viewed the television with contempt as one star after anoth.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/paulmo/1901195/ Five pot smoking guys sprawled, carefully relaxing at their favorite spot in a clearing hidden behind some trees behind a barely functioning gas station, which was a short distance down the street from Carl Henson's house in a mostly white part of town.  One of the guys was Stan.  Another.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/paulmo/1859665/ With Shoney's door behind him, and Stan finally through with that day’s job, grumbling about how busy it was, the usual rudeness of the customers, and how thoroughly aching his feet were; he found Mr. Jackson's limousine, a sleek and splendid vehicle, black, with dark and tinted windows, and .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/paulmo/1859664/ 1989 Stanley Jennings exited slowly from his car, then turned and softly closed the door so that it didn't quite shut all the way. “S**t,” he mumbled. He dug for a moment in the right pocket of his good pair of pants, before withdrawing his keys.  This time he did the thing right, s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/paulmo/1857387/ 1986 Two kids sat on a crowded tenement’s front step in a midtown Kansas City neighborhood.  One passed a small box to the other. “Here ya go baby.  Hurry up'n opin it.”  It was Elaine's sixteenth birthday.  Stan sat grinning with impatience, blinking his wide b.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/paulmo/1857342/ An American Anger Story tells of two worlds that, though living side by side, rarely meet. Why? Why not. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/paulmo/1857341/