The Science of Poetry

The Science of Poetry.

I watched the smoke fade toward the light
And dissapear to ash again
I write in the dead man’s medium,
With paper and a pen.

I saw a world with Walt Whitman
And tears for what once was.
Writing on a blackboard
Where the formula becomes art,
And the written word dies hard.

Teach me now, meter and rhythm
A new way to read the words.
Explain the way, the writers wrote
Change their letters into numbers
And KILL the written word.

Click your keys, and watch your films,
Why bother to turn a page?
The written word burns slowly,
Fighting the modern age.

So now there’s no more meter
No rhyme or science here.
Today we take back poetry,
Scratch ink upon a page
If only to watch it turn red
With the feelings in our veins.


...I'm also super drunk.

Boogie Brains Band Bio...that's a lot of B's

“With a little Johnny Cash and some thrash in every bar…”  With influences ranging from Wanda Jackson, Janis Martin, and Eddie Cochran to The Ramones, Dead Kennedy’s and New York Hardcore, the BOOGIE BRAINS steamroll over genres, going from “Phil Spector to Whatever”
    Hailing from Valley Stream, New York, home of Steve Buscemi, Ed Burns, Wendy the Snapple Lady and the immortal Slipped Disc Records (RIP) come the BOOGIE BRAINS. The five piece, consisting of Pat (keyboards), Derek (drums), Frank (stand-up bass), B.O.M. (guitar) and Brittany (vocals), formed as a rockabilly cover band but quickly evolved into something more. This current lineup came together in October 2009, when Frank began playing his first instrument, the stand-up bass, Pat switched from drums to keyboards and Derek became the official drummer.
    The BOOGIE BRAINS live show brings together an eclectic mix of sounds, B.O.M.’s Rhoads edition Jackson guitar adds a hardcore/thrash edge and is atypical of the big hollow bodied guitar sound you would expect; Brittany’s vocals range from classic rockabilly to X-Ray Spex style intensity. Frank’s stand-up bass and Pat’s keyboard playing add to the classic sound, while Derek’s pounding punk style drums continue on the theme of playing punk rock ‘n’ roll. A rousing cover of  “Da Doo Ron Ron” and songs such as “Vanity”, and “Get Along” mix classic and modern sounds and get the crowd pogoing and singing along.
    Adding to the BOOGIE BRAINS original sound are the strong relationships between the band members. B.O.M. and Frank are brothers, and have been playing in bands together since they were young; Brittany and B.O.M. have been dating for almost ten years, a relationship explored in songs like “Jackie”. Brittany and B.O.M. also handle the songwriting, Brittany the lyrics and B.O.M. the music. The recordings are all also handled literally in house by B.O.M., taking place either in his bedroom or kitchen.
    With an album to be released this fall and an upcoming January tour, the band has “quit their day jobs” to dedicate themselves to their “old school, futuristic punk rock ‘n’ roll” sound. Rock ‘n’ roll is around sixty years old, let the BOOGIE BRAINS be the band to bring rock ‘n’ roll to its centennial.

Pearls, Pt. 1

He was buried on a rainy, cold Sunday, atypical of late March and belying the fact that spring had already arrived. He was seventeen years old when he died, his coffin lined with forty ounce bottles of Mickey’s malt liquor, Lucky Strike cigarettes, and his favorite albums. Matthew Pearl was a punk rocker in life, and his friends were determined that he remain one in death.
    The last Saturday of his life dawned bright and warm, but he slept right through it. The only thing that roused him on this morning was the shrill ringing of his cell phone. He rolled over, grabbed it and answered groggily.
    “Hello?”
    “Yo, Tompkins show, MDC and Choking Victim, you in?”
    “Tim are you really fucking calling me at ten AM on a Saturday? You’re a dick.” Matt said.
    “Fuck you, by the way good show last night, you guys are getting legit.” Tim replied.
    Matt played in a punk band called The Fux, singing and playing what amounted to lead guitar but it was a punk band, so he basically strummed the same three chords as fast as he could and screamed until his throat hurt. The had played a show last night at a place actually called ‘The Dive’ which was incorrect, the place was a step below a dive. It was only their third show and despite the free drinks the remained sober enough to play coherent song.
    “Yeah it went good as hell.” Matt said, “but those first two bands were awful. So what time is this Tompkins show?”
    “It starts at three but we need beer and all that shit, so we’re gonna meet at like eleven thirty by Burger King.” Tim answered.
    “Bah, alright. I’ll meet you guys there. Who else is going?” Matt said.
    “Uhh I dunno, me, you, Frank, Billy, Joe, and I think we’re gonna meet Dick and Jimmy at Woodside or some shit.” Tim answered.
    “Yeah, yeah, alright dude I’ll see you in a bit.” Matt hung up the phone, rolled back over and stretched out. He looked around his room, at the posters and ticket stubs on his wall, the band logos drawn all over his door and the mess of clothes, books, and CD’s all over his floor. He smiled contentedly and climbed out of bed.
    He walked into his bathroom to begin the prototypical “Triple S”, minus the shaving he did not do that all too often yet. He washed last nights sweat off of himself the smell of soap erasing the sweated out beer and stale smoke that permeated his skin. He dried off and began walking towards his room.
    “Matthew dear?”
    “Shit.” he said under his breath, then more loudly, “Yeah mom what’s up?”
    “You got home after two o’clock last night, you know we’ve talked about this before. At your age getting home at that time of night is unacceptable.” she said to him.
    “I’m in a fucking towel ma! Can we please talk about this later? I have somewhere I need to be.” Matt said with frustration.
    “Language!” she yelled, “and you bet we’re going to talk about this later.”
    Matt groaned, shook his head and slammed the door to his room. ‘At least she didn’t see that tattoo’ he thought to himself. A few weeks earlier Matt had a friend give him a crude, prison style tattoo of the letters “ACAB” just over his heart. This stood for “All Coppers are Bastards”, a 4-Skins song, and something Matt and his friends firmly believed.
    He put on Energy by Operation Ivy his favorite album, and was immediately soothed by Jesse Michaels’ opening words- “I know, things are getting tougher when you can’t get the top off from the bottom of the barrel…”. Matt bopped around his room, searching for clothes among the piles on his floor. He grabbed a pair of black stretch jeans with a hole in the right knee and a Discharge patch on the back left pocket. And ironically white Black Flag t-shirt with the sleeves cut off covered his skinny chest, and he rubbed at a stain that that appeared to be blood before beginning the search for his bullet belt. He rarely wore it because it was a pain to keep up, but a free MDC/Choking Victim show at Tomkins Square Park was a special enough occasion. He found it under a pile of “The Fux” t-shirts he had made up to sell at shows, and pulled his boots on once it was settled around his waist. His denim vest and a knock-off designer hat with a Fear patch completed his ensemble.
    He grabbed his Lucky Strikes from his nightstand drawer and slipped them into his vest pocket, confident his mother would not see them. He headed downstairs, through his unfortunately suburban looking home, filled with fake flowers, doilies and two obnoxiously pink chairs, which if he was honest with himself, he loved. He grabbed an apple from the basket while Matt’s father regarded him confusedly.
    “You look like a complete idiot, you know that right?” Matts’ father said.
    “Yeah dad I know, I know.” Matt replied.
    His father shrugged and went back to his paper. Matt headed through the living room to leave through the front door, where his mother was sitting in one of those pink chairs while talking on the phone.
    “Hang on a second Annie, Matthew! Where are you going?” she asked.
    “The city, I told you I was going out.” Matt answered.
    “Bring a coat, its going to get cold later. And don’t forget your not out of trouble yet buddy.” she scolded.
    “Ma! I’ll be fine alright?”
    “:Be careful sweetheart, and have a good time. I love you dear.”  she said, smiling sweetly.
    “Yeah, yeah I love you too ma.” . Matt groaned, rolled his eyes, and headed out the door.
    II
    He walked down the block, looking anxiously over his shoulder to make sure his parents were not watching him as he slid his Lucky Strikes out of his vest pocket. Matt waited until he was completely off of his block before lighting up. His first drag immediately bolstered his mood and he exhaled a stream of smoke before picking a piece of tobacco off of his tongue. Filterless cigarettes made him feel like a badass, but they could be a pain. His cell phone rang again and he checked the caller ID before answering.
    “Yo Tim what’s going on?” Matt said.
    “Nothin, yo we’re already here, where you at?” Tim answered.
    “I’m like ten minutes away calm yourself down. Did you guys pick up the beer yet?”
    “ Nah we were gonna wait for you but if you’re gonna be that long we’ll just go get it ourselves now. What do you want?” Tim said.
    “Uh, I dunno dude I guess get me like two forties of Mickey’s, and can you pick up cigarettes for me too? I only have like three left.” Matt said.
    “Ah dick, alright but you better pay me the fuck back when you get here. Meet us at Quick-Stop, the alley like usual.”
    “Shut the fuck up, alright dude I’ll see you there.” Matt hung up and shook his head, that goddamned kid always had a complaint.
    Suddenly a rock went sailing past Matt’s head, smashing into the plaster wall of the independent law firm he was walking past, sending small bits of plaster onto his shoulder and the sidewalk.
    “FAGGOT!” someone yelled from a speeding car. Matt raised his middle finger in salute to what he was sure was some college frat boy idiot. He flicked his cigarette into the street and kept walking north towards the Quick-Stop and the last day of his life.
. . .
    Matt approached the alley behind the Quick-Stop somewhat cautiously. The police were generally on the lookout for Matt and his friends’, and hassled them often because of their strange clothes, and the fact that they could usually be found purchasing and consuming alcohol illegally. He didn’t see any cops around and settled himself against the alley wall, lighting another cigarette for his wait. Matt was attempting to blow smoke rings when Tim and the others approached, all wearing backpacks and carrying plastic bags straining at the seams from the forties of Mickey’s the contained.
    “Fuckin’ right dude,” Matt said when he saw them, “the bus comes in like 10 minutes lets get one of these down before we get on.”
    “Fuck off, a) give me my goddamned money, and b) we get bagged here our day is over, lets just wait til’ were already on the bus” Tim replied.
    “whatever dude, whatta you need like 10 bucks right?” Matt said as he took the money from his duct tape wallet.
    “Yeah 10 is cool. Yo how sick is it that we’re about to see MDC? I feel like they never play”
    “MDC plays all the goddamned time and you know it, and these shows get a little dicey any way you know? You get all these crusty squatter kids trying to give you crumb cake with acid baked into it and all that shit” Matt said.
    “Yeah but you were the only one dumb enough to fall for it, and either way Choking Victim rules, remember the last time we saw them? When we met Stza and all that? Mad fun dude.” Billy interjected.
    “Yeah whatever, I’m pumped either way. Some fucking douche bag in a Mazda threw a rock at me on the way here, called me a communist and shit. Kinda cool though, like the Billy Bragg song? You know, ‘just because I dress like this, doesn’t mean I’m a communist’ right?” Matt said.
    “Billy Bragg fucking sucks, he’s mad wimpy.” Billy piped in again.
    “Fuck you,” Matt answered angrily, “Billy Bragg fucking rules and you know it.”
    “Nope, he sucks. So do you.” Billy responded.
    Matt simply shook his head and began stuffing the Mickey’s into his vest pockets, as the others put theirs into the backpacks they had brought with them. They headed to the corner where the N4 bus would take them to the subway at Jamaica station. The bus arrived with brakes screeching loudly and a plume of exhaust fumes, Matt and the others climbing aboard loudly and rushed to the back of the bus to get the good seats. Matt found himself thinking how strange it was that the back of the bus was always the place to cool kids sat, and probably always would be. As the bus rumbled on towards Queens Matt opened his first forty ounce of the day. It was only twelve thirty, but day drinking always lent themselves to shows like this, and the Mickey’s was ice cold and beyond delicious.
    A woman sitting in the seats facing backwards kept looking up from her newspaper to glare at Matt and his friends. Frank stuck two fingers up his nose, pulling it into a pigs snout, stuck out his tongue and loudly screamed in the woman’s direction. She glanced down again, visibly startled while the boys all laughed.
    “Hey lady! Where you headed?!” Frank yelled in the woman’s direction. She looked away again, turning red in the face while Frank began attempting to shimmy up the railing near the back bus door.
    “Hey! Hey! HEY! Look over here lady! Come have a drink with us, we’ve got plenty” Frank yelled again. The bell dinged overhead and the bus approached the curb to disengage its passengers. The woman stood up and headed for the door then suddenly turned, fired her paper at Franks face and screamed.
    “AAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!” Frank slipped off the rail in surprise, hitting the ground hard and spilling his beer. “Now fuck off you little shits!” and the woman got off the bus. The boys laughed harder than ever while Frank lamented the loss of his malt liquor.
    “That’s what you get for being such a fuckin’ douche Frank.” Billy said. Frank took a mouthful of beer and spit it in Billy’s face and the two began to wrestle on the back of the bus, startling the other passengers. The wrestling finally concluded with Billy standing on Franks back on the back of the bus and loudly proclaiming himself “King of Douche Mountain”.
    “Goddammit! Cut that shit out back there or your off this goddamned bus” the driver yelled out. The boys all laughed again and continued drinking. One of the great loopholes of the MTA system was that as long as the bottle is covered, you can’t get in trouble for drinking it, so they continued to imbibe as the bus rolled on.

Tonights post brought to you by...Budweiser Tallboys and Marlboro Lights

So I used to have a tumblr (www.mdflanagan.tumblr.com) but it didn't work out so well, so here is my second attempt at this blog thing. I'm attempting to give a little bit of background to my posts so far, since all of them have kind of a special meaning to me. The first story, "Heaven Bound and Glory Be", has a title legitimately stolen from Kevin Devine who rules, but it was inspired by both my grandmother's death and the song "Pints of Guinness Make You Strong" by Against Me!. It's the first short story I ever wrote and means a lot to me on many different levels.
    The second post " Boogie Brains Band Biography...That's a lot of B's" is about a really cool band that a few of my friends are in, who are definitley worth checking out (www.myspace.com/boogiebrains). They have a very original sound, and I'm totally thankful to them for giving me the opportunity to write their bio for them.
    The most recent post "Concord" is named after a diner in Valley Stream that I happen to frequent, but has a number of influences of mine involved in it. The most important of these would be The Gaslight Anthem (www.gaslightanthem.com). Aside from being my favorite band of the moment, lyrically I have never felt closer to a band in all my life (more on that later). This particular story is inspired by their song "Great Expectations", most obviously the diner part.
    I'm a bit drunk so I'll leave it here for now, but I will leave you with a few songs and websites that are most assuredly worth checking out.


www.myspace.com/boogiebrains ....check out the songs "Vanity" and "Get Along"...I'm not too sure how to describe them, but they rule.
The Gaslight Anthem- specifically "Great Expectations" and "Id'a Called you Woody, Joe" but really anything this band has recorded ever is amazing.
Against Me! "Pints of Guinness Make you Strong" and "Tonight we're gonna give it 35%"

Concord

“So are you just going to sit there and stare at me all night? Or do you have something you’d like to say?” he realized after he spoke the words that they had a little more venom in them than he had intended.
    “Its just that” she paused and took a deep breath, “It’s just that you used to be and happy and caring and now your just some miserable, sad, broken down old bastard who hates everything. Your jaded at twenty five years old.” She had been averting her eyes during this little speech, but now they were locked onto his intensely.
    He had his head down and was flicking his lighter on and off distractedly. He stared into his rapidly cooling cup of coffee and tried to think of something to say. He sat there stupidly open and closing his mouth a few times, as if preparing to say something, but no words would come out. He looked into her face, expecting to see tears or at least a shadow of sadness but the only thing he saw in her face was anger, accentuated by the harsh fluorescent lights of the near empty diner.
    “Is that really how you feel? You really, really think that about me?” he asked finally.
    “Yes, Goddamnit! You never want to do anything! You have no ambition, you just want to fucking sit around all day feeling miserable about yourself. Can you tell me the last time you did something fun? Or even wanted to?” she finished with a huff and looked exasperatedly at him.
    He sat back in his booth, and the creaking of the red vinyl seat only made the silence between them seem louder. Did he really want to deal with this? Was any of it really worth it? If he was honest with himself, and he rarely was, no, it just wasn’t worth it. He kept flicking his lighter on and off, trying desperately to avoid looking at her. He could feel her large china blue eyes burning holes into him and knew he had to make his escape.
    He sighed wearily and looked at her with the most forlorn face he could muster in the face of his decision. Finally he pursed his lips, shook his head a few times and then nodded. With another creak from the vinyl of the bench, he squeezed himself out of the booth, stood up, threw a few bills onto the cheap Formica table and walked out.
    A light snow had fallen while they were inside and he listened to the crunching sound it caused his shoes to make on the pavement. He headed home, flicking his lighter on and off, thinking to himself that if he was going to be a sad, miserable bastard, at least now he had an excuse.

Heaven Bound and Glory Be.

She stood at the big picture window in the front room of her house and looked out at the gray, cloudy morning. It had been raining for days, and today looked like more of the same. Her slippered feet carried her tired old body into the kitchen, where she made herself some toast and a pot of tea. The kitchen hadn’t been updated since she moved into it with her husband in the year of our Lord, 1939.
    The wallpaper was lightly patterned and peeling where it met the scuffed countertops, and the oven was the same one that had come with the house. The floor was cracked, dented, and marked with the growing footsteps of the nine children she had raised there. None of them ever came to visit her, and with the passing of her husband eight years ago this November, she was truly alone. She buttered her toast and nibbled at it while reading the paper, just like she had done every morning since Nancy, her youngest daughter had gotten married and moved out.
She took her tea and went back to looking at the gray skies through the window in her front room. She was trying in vain to remember the feel of her husbands arms around her, being enveloped in the smell of his Old Spice aftershave and tobacco smoke, but time had eroded those memories, and she could barely even touch her fingertips to them. As she tried to bring them back, a long finger of sun broke through the clouds, then another, and another. The sun finally pushed gloriously through the clouds, almost as if the rays had pried them apart. It burst through and filled the house, as well as her heart with warmth. She smiled broadly as the memories of a house crowded with children and a loving husband came flooding back.
    She could se it all so clearly, the parties, the birthdays, the Christmases and big Easter dinners. She saw her children running, smiling, playing. Her husband singing as he played the upright piano in the front room…
    As quickly as they came, the memories faded again. The clouds reenveloped the sun, and the rain began to tap on the windows and roof of the old house. She headed back into her kitchen for a broom to sweep up the remnants of the delicate china cup she had dropped in her momentary bliss. The remembering had become just another fading memory, and she went back to her usual daily routine.
    After cleaning the house and a modest lunch, she settled down to read. She was not much of a television watcher, but since she had been young she had always been able to lose herself in books. She was rereading this particular one, but to her it made no difference. To her, books were old friends, and why shouldn’t one call on old friends occasionally to see how they were getting on? The rain had started to pound the windows and walls by now, and she pulled her shawl tighter around herself to ward off the cold.
    The doorbell rang, a sound she was so unaccustomed to that she almost did not recognize what it was. She moved slowly towards the door and opened it to see a scruffy looking man in a rumpled brown suit and a beat up old hat. He tipped his hat to her and began speaking very quickly.
    “Hello young lady, is your mother home?” he chuckled softly as he pushed his way out of the rain and into the house. She smiled politely but again he started talking before she had the chance to respond.
    “My name is James Carling and I must say you keep a lovely home, but wouldn’t you like it to be even cleaner? I’m sure your husband, and even your children would really appreciate it.” he smiled a quick broad smile full of brilliantly white teeth. “now, I’d like to talk to you about a new, more powerful vacuum cleaner Mrs.…ah I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name..”
    She stared at him with bewilderment. A door to door vacuum salesman? She hadn’t seen that in almost forty years, and even then never one as pushy as this man was.
    “Uhm, it’s Mary, Mary Cafferty, and I’m sorry Mr.…Carling is it? But I’m really not-”
“Cafferty! I’m assuming your Irish, I’m Irish myself, and the least you can do is listen to a fellow countryman’s sales pitch now couldn’t you? Some tea wouldn’t be amiss either.” he smiled that quick, broad smile again.
    “Yes, I suppose but really, I have a lot of things to do around here and I really should be getting star-”
    “Nonsense Mrs. Cafferty! Plus, with the new, futuristic vacuum I’ve got here, your housework can be done in half the time! Let me just give you a quick demonstration” he plopped himself down on the couch, set his briefcase on the coffee table and opened it. He hummed “Heart and Soul” quietly to himself as he removed the parts and began assembling them. Mary walked slowly and somewhat nervously into the kitchen, uncomfortable with the idea of such a pushy stranger invading her home, solitude and reading. If she was honest with herself though, she would admit she somewhat enjoyed the attention and company, it made for a nice break in the monotony of her life.
    “I just can’t wait to show you how well this thing works Mrs. Cafferty,” she could almost see that obnoxious smile through the walls. “I also can’t wait for some of that tea, it’s awful cold out there today, and my dear grandmother always said nothing warms the body and soul better than a cup of tea!”
    She groaned to herself at the thought of having to entertain a man like this, but again, the break in the loneliness, speaking to another person, it was worth sitting through the sales pitch.
    She loaded the tray with milk, sugar and a few slightly stale cookies from her nearly bare cabinets. She took a deep breath and put on the happy hostess smile she used while entertaining in her younger years, and started back towards the living room.
    “Here’s the tea Mr. Carling, and I brought out some cookies for you as well.”
“Oh excellent, thank you Mary, can I call you Mary? Because if I can, you can most certainly call me Jimmy, all of my friends do.” he said with a little too much enthusiasm.
     “Uhm, why yes I suppose you can call me Mary” she said with trepidation.
“Excellent! Alright Mary, prepare to have your mind blown, this little vacuum is going to be the wave of the future, just you wait and see!” he set his cup of tea down and plugged the vacuum into the nearest wall outlet, all the while smiling that smile of his.
    He began vacuuming the floor, keeping a steady stream of comments about how it worked going all the while. She had to admit that the stupid vacuum did seem to being doing wonders for her carpet. It seemed brighter and fresher, and it looked almost new.
    “Well Mr. Carling, Jimmy, I’m sorry, it does seem to work very well, but it’s just me around here and unless it’s very cheap I don’t really need a new-”
    “Well Mary” he cut her off again. “before we talk about price or anything like that, let me at least show you all the attachments, and a little bit more about how much easier this thing can make your day, but before we do that-”
    “Please, Jimmy, I really don’t have the need for a new vacuu-”
“Mary, think of how much happier your husband will be if he comes home to a house as clean as this vacuum can make yours.”
    “Mr. Carling, please, my husband pass-”
“What’s the lucky mans name then? If he’ll be coming home any time soon, we can ask him what he thinks, I’m sure he’ll love it.”
    “His name was Michael but-”
“Michael Cafferty! A good strong name that’s for sure.” Carling said with great enthusiasm and that same smile.
    She suddenly seemed to remember a lot more about her husband than she had in years. The memories were no longer just out of her reach, but seemed to be firmly in her grasp. Her memories of her children seemed to be startlingly clear, all of them bursting into the house with a chorus of  “Hey ma!”s and rushing right downstairs to catch the westerns on television.
    “You have beautiful children Mary, a real handsome group. Your daughter’s are going to be breaking hearts real soon that’s for sure.” For a moment she thought the man had somehow invaded her memories, but she realized he was looking at the old photos that covered the piano. Even the piano looked newer, it was amazing to her the difference a clean carpet could make.
    “Thank you Jimmy, they’re older now, but they really were beautiful children.” she said. Again it was funny, she could sworn she heard them all downstairs playing and yelling and singing the theme songs to all those old westerns. She smiled a bit sadly and asked
    “So Jimmy, what are all these attachments for?”
    “Ah, well I’m glad you asked Mary, this one here is for drapes, this one works on all your tile and hardwood floors, and this one is new, specifically made for cleaning furniture. They sure seem to be having a great time down there don’t they?”
    Lost in her memories she responded “Yes, you know how kids love their westerns. So, do I get another demonstration?” she realized she was leading the poor man on a bit, but she felt younger, happier and lighter than she had in years. The stiffness of old age seemed to melt away as the memories came back.
    She had to admit, the vacuum was working wonders, again with it’s treatment of the drapes, sofa and kitchen floor, everything seemed to look brand new. The house hadn’t looked so new in any recent memory, and it actually did make her feel better. For all his faults, this man at least was trying to sell her a decent product.
    “Jimmy, everything really does look fantastic, it hasn’t been this clean in years.”
He flashed that quick broad smile again and said “I told you so Mary, so I’m guessing I can expect you to be using one of these from now on?”
    “I’m sorry Jimmy but I can’t, I’m on a very tight budget and I really already have a decent vacuum.” she said with a polite but sad smile. She hated to disappoint the man, but her husbands pension check didn’t really allow for extraneous spending.
    “Ah, right” he said sadly “well, it was an excellent afternoon, thank you for the tea and your time.” he smiled that smile again and headed for the door.
    As she reached to open it for him, he grabbed her by the sides of her face and kissed her squarely on the forehead. She was momentarily scandalized, thankful that her children were downstairs so they wouldn’t see that kind of behavior. At the same time, she felt strangely comforted, even in the face of such outrageous behavior. She started to say something to him but he cut her short with another smile, but this one different than before. This one was wider and brighter and seemed not to light up just his face, but her house and her heart as well.
    He tipped his hat to her and headed out the door, passing her husband as he did so.
“Howdy, Mike”, smiling the familiar, quick smile she had become used to.
    “Uh Hello sir” her husband responded with confusion. “Hey Mar, what’s for dinner? I’m literally starving, and who was that guy?” her husband looked down as her and smiled the same smile that she had fallen in love with so many years earlier.
    As she stood on her front steps, very confused, but very happy, she watched Mr. Carling smile and tip his hat again before heading down the street with his briefcase. As she looked up at her husband, the sun again pried its way through the clouds, it’s rays touching and warming her to her very soul. In that instant, she knew there would be no more rainy days.