I hate my writing with video class, but I love that I get to make things like this (that really happened) into movies

Katie and I had been walking down east 9th street for what felt like hours. Our shoulders were sore from scrunching them up towards our ears for extra warmth and our knuckles were white from clenching our fists so tightly in our pockets. The wind was whirling into our famished bodies. “How many more blocks?” I asked through the scarf covering my face.
“Uhm, well the dorm is right off of Broadway and thats after University Place, and were at 10th, so not too many.”
The neighborhoods were getting increasingly nicer as we walked west through the city. At this point we were surrounded by tall brownstones with exquisite lighting fixtures inside their floor to ceiling front windows. Cabs lined the streets with women wearing expensive coats climbing in and out, fussing with their many shopping bags. “I wouldn’t mind spending christmas in one of these laps of luxury...” Katie muttered.
“Who the hell says laps of luxury? Is this like 1945?”
“Was that a popular phrase in the 40’s?”
“I’m not sure. But I’m fucking freezing.”
“Should we sing a christmas carol to keep us warm?” I paused for a moment contemplating this idea. It as a great one, after all, the best way to spread christmas cheer is singing loud for all the hear. But what song? Forgetting anything but the choruses to songs I shouted, “THATS THE JINGLE BELL-”
“THATS THE JINGLE BELL-” Katie chimed in as we were passing a Cab with his drivers side door open. Before either Katie or I could sing the big finishing line, a raggedy taxi driver wearing a black knit hat ana a blue flannel shirt shouts out, perfectly on key- “THATS THE JINGLE BELL ROOOOOCK.” We applauded this jolly stranger who must have been santa himself in disguise. This was the best christmas ever.

A snowwwwwwy valentines day

TWO snow days in a row!!!!!!

Yesterday I watched a squirrell outside the window for about 20minutes. It had a really wierd looking tail. It was almost frayed or something. It looked really cold. It was shivering. i tried to give it a honey roasted almond, but as soon as I came outside it ran away. A few days i ago i was sitting at the bus stop and there was one that jumped onto the stone block i was sitting on. It was really close to me and I started calling it the way you call a cat to come play. it got within about 2 inches of me and then i started to scream because I was afraid it would bite me.

Fred and I just had some vday fried chicken. delicious.

An Untitled Story

Here are the facts. One day Georgina Robertson wakes up, reaches for her husband and sees his head is gone. Three days later Sammy Willams calls the station in a fritz saying he just found his brother with his tail wrapped around his throat and his tongue stapled to the wall. Only a few hours later we find out that Bert Ronalds was last seen driving way too fast towards the water. What do these three people have in common? They all frequent the Fox Hole. They all never miss Strand’s act. They all had seen her on occasion outside the club. Now we don’t know under exactly what kind of circumstances, but I can guess that is wasn’t just to talk about her pretty voice. Everything points to the fox. It seems too obvious, though. And why would she do it? I guess that’s why I was sent down to this sketchy town from headquarters. Doing this job, I’ve come to find that the truth is always in the last place you look.
***
There was a thick fog of smoke through the middle of the room. A redish-grey light shown onto the stage framing the empty microphone. Miss Strand stepped into the circle of light. The rays immediately reflected off of her sequined gown into the anonymous faces of the front row. She caressed the mic with her paw. Her fur glistened in the light. She tilted her head up and her wet black nose reflected the old stage lights just as much as the blue sequins. Pulling the microphone closer to her mouth she took a deep breath and began to sing. “It had to be you. It had to be youuuu…”
I tapped my fingers watching Miss Strand sing her heart out. “This girl couldn’t hurt a fly,” I thought. Sure, she’s a fox but that doesn’t mean her bark is worse than her bite. “Can I get you anything, Sir?” I looked up and saw two oval eyes surrounded by the most beautiful black fur I have ever seen.
“I’ll have a gin and tonic, pussy cat.” Her tail began to twitch rapidly.
“Listen, buddy,” she said slamming her paw onto the table, “I’m a Persian pure bred. Don’t waltz into town thinkin’ you can accuse people of things. I AIN”T no run-a-the mill pussy. “
“Yikes.”
“Your drink will be right up.” She walked away wagging that tail like she owned the place, and from I’ve heard, she might as well. She spends her free time cuddled up next to The Big Guy as he’s known on the street. And he owns just about everything in this town.
“ I wandered around and finally found the somebody who, could make me be true…”
This Miss Strand sure could sing. There’s a small string of murders one day and everyone blames the fox. In a town like this, though, I guess no one was safe from accusation. The little kitty was coming towards me again. “Are you Mr. Hunter?”
“Whose askin?”
“ Who do you think?” She stared right through me with her big green irises. She was wearing a thin string of diamonds around her neck that said “Don’t look down any farther, I’m spoken for.” So I didn’t.
“Can I still have my drink?”
“You’ll get it up there.” I followed this pretty kitty past the bar into the back of the club. We zigzagged through the musty air between round table after round table filled with guys who should have been at home with their wives and kids, but instead they were here, drinking away their paychecks and watching a fox sing the blues. We finally got to the back of the place. She pulled aside a deep blue velvet curtain.
She gestured with her head to continue up. I walked through the doorway. “What about my drink?” She let the curtain fall between us.
“Some others I've seen, might never be mean, might never be cross, or try to be boss…”
The single naked light bulb over the stairs trembled with the same apprehension I felt at the time. The stairs were a string of 20 or so old wood platforms up to hell. Maybe I was being dramatic. Maybe The Big Guy just wanted to introduce himself to me. Or maybe not. At the top of the stairs there was a modest door with a rickety handle. While I hesitated for a moment with my fist in knocking position in front of the door, I listened. Nothing. I continued with the original plan of knocking. “Come in,” a large voice seeped though the door. The door creaked open as I pushed it. In front of me was a large grey metal desk. Behind it was an over sized black desk leather chair with its back towards me. The room smelled like rotten vegetables. My eyes searched the corners and found that there was a stack of old lettuce heads in the corner. I might have turned my nose up slightly in disgust. “Do you have a problem with my dinner, Mr. Hunter?” The chair whirled around and sitting right in the middle was a tiny white rodent with his little front claws folded in his lap.
“Ugh, no sir.” I was dumfounded. How could this little gerbil run an entire town full of large mammals that could eat him up in a second?
“Good. Please have a seat.” I sat down on a metal folding chair. It was ice cold. As soon as I sat down he was out of my sight. I was trying to think of a respectful way to bring up this problem, and just as I was about to open my big mouth, he scurried onto the desk. I strained my eyes to look over and behind the desk and saw a series of plastic tubes set up.
“I know what you must be thinking. The same thing everyone is thinking when they sit in that chair. How can me ‘The Big Guy,’ a little tiny guy, run a town like this one? And why is my voice so deep? Well, buddy, its because I smoked three packs a day since I was born. Alright? So stop looking at me like I’m retarded or something cause I’m not.” I nodded, mostly just to play along. I was still really questioning this mouse’s authority.
“So I guess you’re wondering why I asked you up here.”
“ I sure am. I’m also wondering where my gin and tonic is?”
“Do I look like a goddamn cocktail waitress? You listen to me, ‘cause I’m only going to say this once. I didn’t like the looks of you the second you rolled into town on that bike of yours.”
“It’s a Vespa sir.”
“Ok, faggot, well I didn’t like you and I didn’t like you’re matted down fur. I know you been trying to track down the animal whose got all these murders under their belt, but you better just get out of town before you discover something you shouldn’t have stuck your nose into in the first place.” The smell of the lettuce was starting to make me nauseous.
“ Look, sir, I’m just doing my job. And I will continue to do my job until the case is closed.”
“Well, hotshot.” He paused and tried to stare into me with his beady black eyes, which were far from intimidating. “Consider your self warned. Now get the fuck out of here.”
I walked down the staircase, a little stunned. I didn’t feel that threatened by the kid. I mean, really, he’s just a gerbil. But my gut told me not to judge things so quickly and to keep my guard up. I started looking for that pussy cat so I could finally get my goddamn gin and tonic when I saw that fox taking her last curtsy. To my luck, I was standing right by a back stage entrance. I ducked into the dark hallway. It smelled like lipstick and pantyhose, which was much more comforting than that lettuce. Just thinking about it made me gag a little. I followed that maze of dimly lit, narrow hallways filled with musicians and scantily clad mutts until I see a door with a star drawn on with permanent marker. LESLIE STRAND. I’m about to knock as the door swings open. This chump holding a bouquet of roses gets thrown into me. “Don’t forget your hat Fido.” His hat lands on top of the flowers. All I’m thinking is this guy better hold onto his head if he’s getting involved with this lady. “Sorry buddy,” He says standing up. He turns around and licks some dirt off his trousers. “She can get pretty testy after a show.”
“Don’t they all?” He nodded and gave me a slightly dirty look. I waited for him to clear the scene before knocking again.
“Fido! What the hell did I say! I don’t want your lousy-“ The door swung open again. “Flowers- oh. Excuse me. I thought you were, ugh. Can I help you? ”
“Yeah. You can. I’m Mr. Hunt. Can I come in for a moment, I want to ask you a few questions.”
“Look buddy, I don’t take my top off, alright? I’m respectable, I’m the top rated act in town. Who do you think I am? Coming here and asking me to do low budget this and that,” she moved her shiny snout close to my ear, “but tell me how much you’re offering and I might be interested.”
“I want to ask you a few questions about the recent murders in town, Ma’am.” Her seductive expression became much more sober.
“I guess I should have been expecting you. Make it quick though. I got a date.”
Miss Strand’s dressing room was covered in vases of old flowers. These flowers covered all different varieties of death. Some were wilting, some were shriveled, some were dry, some were crumbled under their vase, some were only a few days old, and some were fake. There was one bunch of live roses next to the mirror that looked to be only a few days old. Necklaces were strung on the sides of the mirror and the dressing table was littered with makeup. Miss Strand plopped down on the couch that sat opposite the mirror. “So, what is it? I’m being framed for the murders of three of my closest friends and you wanna know what kinda alibi I have?”
“Well, yeah. I suppose. I don’t think you did it, but all the trails end up right here at your dressing room door.”
“I didn’t do it. I was out of town that weekend, helping my mom move. But these three guys, let me tell you. They have more in common then you think.” I stared into her big brown eyes. There was a sparkle in them, something that said you can’t trust me, but you gotta believe me. She broke our stare, looking down at her stocking paws.
“So what ELSE do these guys have in common besides all scurrying around with you at one time or another?”
“The Big Guy and his little kitty friend.”
“What do you mean?” Someone banged on the door.
“Look, you better go. Meet me in the alley by the back door in 45 minutes. I’ll tell you everything you need to know.” She pushed me towards the bathroom. “But the door,” I stammered and pointed.
“Nu-uh. You’re going out the window.”
45 minutes to kill. Having never gotten my gin and tonic, I decided to go to another bar down the street I knew of. This place was much less crowded. A few depressing characters sitting at the bar. I skulked through the dim light to the bar. I got the ferret’s attention who was working the place and politely ordered my drink.
“So are you her new guy?” I turned to my right to see the same mangy mutt that had just a few minutes before gotten kicked out of Miss Strand’s dressing room.
“Nope. Not yet at least.”
“You can’t trust that girl.” He spoke slowly and sadly. “One day she’ll be saying she loves you and beggin you to run away with her and the next, well, she’ll be scammin on you with some alley cat. Then she’ll come running back to you, begging to go away again. Then her boys will set it up so it looks like you cheated on her and she’ll kick you to the curb and never speak to you again.” He looked down in to his drink.
“Are you speaking from experience, what was it, Fido?”
“Who cares.” I could see the rage rapidly moving from his stomach to his chest. “But anyone who tries to touch Miss Strand, I’ll kill ‘em. I won’t just kill them, I’ll kill her.” He slammed his fist on the wooden bar, threw some cash down, and stormed out of the place.”
“Don’t worry,” a small voice said from behind the bar, “He threatens someone everyday. The guy is blind drunk most of the time he couldn’t even shoot straight. If he tried. Not that he has before. I mean maybe he has. Not that I keep tabs on him constantly. But anyway, don’t worry about him.”
“Oh I’m not. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
“Ooooh. What kind? I’m a huge fan of trout. This isn’t really trout season though and this isn’t really the region for it…”
“Its an expression.”
“Oh.”
“How much do I owe you?”
“ Four dollars.” I reached for my wallet and began to feel woozy. My head felt like it was eight feet above my body and my vision went blurry. I usually don’t get like this until I’ve had a lot more than one drink. My stomach started to bubble, like everything was about to resurface. I scratched the bar with my claws and tried to ask for some water, but my voice got caught in my throat as well as my breath. I gasped and struggled, hoping that ferret would do something to help me. But he just stood on the bar with a smirk between his whiskers. He tapped my forehead with a tiny finger and I fell backwards to the ground. Everything went black.
I was out for what felt like years. When I finally began to come to, the first thing I noticed was the smell of dried flowers. I slowly blinked my eyes open. I attempted to wipe the drugged sleep out of my eyes, but I couldn’t move. I tried again. Becoming completely conscience I realized I was tied to a chair with some rather silky bed sheets.
“Thanks for joining us Mr. Hunter.” I looked down and saw that treacherous Big Guy standing at my toes. Looking to my right I saw Miss Strand passed out on the couch with her wrists tied behind her back. In the corner of the room was that pussycat waitress with her front legs crossed over her chest. “Lift me up sweetie.” The kitty walked over and picked up The Big Guy. She raised him so he was right in front of my face. “I told, you, buddy, don’t go sniffin around here. I warned you. And you didn’t listen. I only give a warning once. Alright faggot? Now you’re going to join Mr. Williams, Mr. Ronalds, and Mr. Whatshisname.”
“Mr. Robertson,” I chimed in.
“WHEN I SPEAK YOU LISTEN. DO NOT SPEAK.” His eyes had flames behind them and his voice sounded like a dragon. “But you know what? I didn’t kill them. Nope. And neither did the fox. They were my three best guys. My henchmen, if you will. They protected me, they protected the club, they protected Miss Strand. Kept people away from her that might distract her. Her home is here. We are her family. Someone wanted to get closer to her. So they knocked my boys off. But don’t worry, Mr. Hunter. I’m hot on his trail and he’ll soon be in the grave with you.”
“Since you’re about to kill me anyway, may I please have a moment to speak freely?” He glared at me.
“Let him talk, Squiggles,” the cat chimed in.
“Fine. But make it quick.”
“I guess I don’t really understand why you want to kill me. I want to catch this guy just as much as you do. We can work together. I can only help you in this situation.”
“NO. I can do it myself. I might be small, but I OWN THIS TOWN. I CAN CATCH WHO I NEED TO. I CAN DO IT MYSELF. And you are interfering and trying to make me look worthless. Well, retard, you’re the worthless one. I own this town. What do you own? A lousy rain coat and hat?” What an inferiority complex this guy had. Probably a father who only put him down, called him little. Scared him for life, I bet. And not I was getting the rough end of the stick. I began to untie the sheets around my wrists and thought about how I was going to grab Strand and get out of here. Right as I was hatching my plan that mutt from the bar bursts in. He barking up a storm and running around on all fours, which was hardly seen these days. He saw Strand tied up on the couch.
“Oh! So happy you could drop by, Fido. We’re a little busy now.”
“What did you do to her?” he barked.
“She’s just taking a little nap, Rover. Besides, she doesn’t want to see you anymore, remember.”
“Oh no. She did. She does. Its you who doesn’t want her to see me. Its you who set up those three horsemen to tear apart our relationship. And you know what? I KNOW THAT. And that’s why I murdered all three of them. I need her. I love her.”
“I should of known it was you. Trouble since day one.” The mouse had jumped out of his feline friends paws onto the back of Fido. I saw an unimaginable rage that could only come out of love rising once again from the mutt’s stomach into his throat. I was about to interfere into this situation when Fido moved his back in such a way that he threw The Big Guy to the floor in front of him. Within a split second of his landing, Fido had the gerbil in his mouth. He must have swallowed him whole. It was that easy. The tyranny of the town flushed down the drain in less than a second. The pussycat and I stood there. We just stared at him, stunned. She burst out in tears and fell to the floor sobbing.
“I’m sorry. I guess I’ve wanted to do that forever, but I never actually thought it would happen. My instincts took hold of me. Oh my God. I killed the president.” The mutt whimpered and walked over to Miss Strand. He shook her trying to wake her up.
“He wasn’t the president, Fido. Just a tyrant.”
“He was MY president,” The cat said through tears on the floor. “I loved him.” As she said this she reached into her blouse and pulled out a knife. The dog had his back turned towards her and she charged at him. I intercepted her, after all the dressing room was pretty small. Her knife ended up going straight into my left shoulder. I howled. The mutt had awoken Strand. She was surprisingly unhappy to see him. He whispered to her for a minute while I lay on the ground struggling with the cat. “I’ll kill him,” the pussy kept yelling.
“Let the American government take care of that, sweetie.” Right as I pinned her and took a hold of the knife, Fido and Strand were out the door. I threw the cat down and ran after them. We ran through the maze of dimly lit hallways and the stench of panty hose (which made me surprisingly more nauseas then it did earlier that day) out onto the stage where Fido stopped and pulled a gun out. “LESLIE, get out of here. I’ll meet you in the car.”
“Fido, listen to me,” she screamed at him, “I DO NOT love you. I never have. Do you hear me?” He turned away from me and towards her.
“I thought you just pushed me away because those guys kept threatening you.”
“No. I despise you and your scent and your stupid floppy hat. You killed my friends, you killed my boss, and now you’re going to kill this poor guy who just wants to lock you up, which you deserve. Goddamnit. I’m tired of this life. I’m tired of this fucking town. I wanted to be a teacher! A TEACHER. And here I am. A washed up foxy lady. Singing the blues to a bunch of scummy guys who ain’t got a decent ounce of blood in them. How many bullets are in that gun, Fido? Is there one for me? I’m the cause of all this, aren’t I? If there was one for Billy and one for Johnny and one for Bert then there better as hell be one for Leslie.” He crumpled into a ball in the middle of the stage. I slowly started to walk towards him. His body shook with tears. Leslie just stood there, staring into that sick, sick bastard. Through his tears he muttered, “You get what you ask for Strand.” He quickly raised his gun and shot her in the stomach. I jumped back and immediately ran backstage to call for backup. As I hung up the phone I heard another shot. I didn’t even have to go back on stage to see who received the second bullet. I walked outside into the cold night air cursing the day I ever stepped foot in this town. I sat down on the stoop and licked my shoulder wound. Four officers ran past me into the club. I just sat and stared into the night. Case Closed.