Joe and Bo
By Scott Harmon
The Cadillac sits in the parking lot of the cheap ass motel. The mobsters in room 13 had grown up under power lines. Joe and Bo. They were childhood friends. They wanted very simple things out of life. They wanted to rotate around the sun as if they were planets and drink gin and juice. All kinds of juice, but only one kind of gin. Their lives would be determined by the gods. Those gods would be determined by a committee of environmentalists. They would argue ceaselessly, but there was actually a loophole. Each day of their planethood would be determined by endless reruns of the show, Miami Vice. Each ending of each episode would determine their fate. Sometimes they would be blasted into a trillion pieces by a vengeful hand gun, their atoms scattered across the galaxy. Other days it would be a semi happy ending. The white guy would get the girl, causing half their beings to be raptured with divine light, while the black guy would be shot at twenty times, which would inevitably lead him to question his career as a law enforcer. He would be tormented if he should pursue a career in architecture or if he should trek naked across Canada, drawing paintings on outhouses in some bizarre form of being the greatest artist who ever lived.
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Scott Harmon is an amateur writer. He writes screenplays, but his roots are in micro and flash fiction. Scott believes and others have told him that he writes comedy and science fiction the best.
By Scott Harmon
The Cadillac sits in the parking lot of the cheap ass motel. The mobsters in room 13 had grown up under power lines. Joe and Bo. They were childhood friends. They wanted very simple things out of life. They wanted to rotate around the sun as if they were planets and drink gin and juice. All kinds of juice, but only one kind of gin. Their lives would be determined by the gods. Those gods would be determined by a committee of environmentalists. They would argue ceaselessly, but there was actually a loophole. Each day of their planethood would be determined by endless reruns of the show, Miami Vice. Each ending of each episode would determine their fate. Sometimes they would be blasted into a trillion pieces by a vengeful hand gun, their atoms scattered across the galaxy. Other days it would be a semi happy ending. The white guy would get the girl, causing half their beings to be raptured with divine light, while the black guy would be shot at twenty times, which would inevitably lead him to question his career as a law enforcer. He would be tormented if he should pursue a career in architecture or if he should trek naked across Canada, drawing paintings on outhouses in some bizarre form of being the greatest artist who ever lived.
- - -
Scott Harmon is an amateur writer. He writes screenplays, but his roots are in micro and flash fiction. Scott believes and others have told him that he writes comedy and science fiction the best.
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