Her name was Evie Adams and she lived up the street from me. The house wasn't much, mostly covered by an overgrown garden and an enormous shade tree. I used to see her sitting under it occasionally when I passed by. She even waved to me on occasion.
Sally Miller ker-plunked her nickel down on the marble counter top and waited for Mr. Klopman to finish with his customer. He wore a red wool stocking cap to keep his bald head warm, but the strangest thing about him was his eyes. Each one pointed toward his nose and he wore eyeglasses as thick as coke bottles which made them look even bigger.
The old man hunched over the battered grocery cart sought nothing more than protection from the biting wind. It was late afternoon, getting colder and he badly needed a place to spend the night. A graffito covered dumpster filled one corner of the alley, directly behind Donaldson's Furniture Store. The usual trash and litter covered the frozen ground around it, but today something else caught his eye, something he had been hoping for. A large shipping carton of heavy cardboard, big enough for him to sleep in.
Buddy woke Mike Williams at four-thirty in the morning, during a cloudburst. The hands on the glow in the dark alarm clock on the nightstand said it was past the point of no return. By the time he let the little Cairn Terrier out, it would be useless trying to go back to sleep. No, like it or not Mike Wilson was up to stay, facing another jobless day.
The little creature slipped in through a keyhole in the bedroom door. Her gossamer gown floating about her on the air. Silver moonlight through an open window, fell across the bed, illuminating a sleeping child and her golden ringlets.
She was tired of being robbed every morning. I could tell by the way she looked at me with those blinking eyes when I entered the chicken coop. She was the only white hen in my grandmother's flock of twelve hens and one large, very mean, red rooster.
The creature was magnificent, its blue and green plumage spread out in the large glass case resting on a rosewood pedestal in the center of the library. Every time Elizabeth Chalmers looked at it she felt claustrophobic. How can it breath in there she thought, knowing full well the bird was dead and stuffed seemed to make no difference. She still wanted to smash the glass and set if free. They had no right to do this to you, or to me.
Agnes Valentine dipped her jelly donut into the coffee cup, and then bit down on the soggy delight. A glob of raspberry filling oozed out, traveling slowly down the front of her white blouse.
"Great," he said, "someone left the door open."
"Boy, what a swell pad," he thought, as he walked around. "Just look at all that glass and light and in a hi-rise too!"
It was warm on the veranda. A few rays of sunlight had broken through the white lattice work and danced over my leather slippers. The rest of my outfit included blue and white striped pajamas and the maroon bath robe with my initials embroidered on the pocket.
