Part 10 of a Series about a Fictional Writer Named Steve: Cashing a Check, Musings about the Word Latter, and "My Name's Not Mickey!"
Limited Series about a Character Named Steve:
My Name's Not Mickey! (episode 10)
“How would you like it?”
“Twenties is fine.”
The teller chimed her register and the drawer sprung open. She scooped out a handful of bills. “Twenty, forty, sixty…” Slapping them down on the counter as she counted, she concluded, “Three hundred. There you go, sir.”
Steve nodded. “Thanks.”
“Anything else we can help you with today?”
“Well, actually…” He looked into the older lady’s glasses. “Do you know where the Brick Bird office is around here? I know it’s close.”
The teller almost laughed, offering a peculiar grin. “Corporate headquarters or the printing office?”
He thought about it for a second. “I’m not sure.”
The Latter is Better.
^That sentence doesn’t make much sense on it’s own, out of context. The word latter has nothing to refer to here. But if you take those two T’s and twist them into D’s – suddenly it make sense.
Not perfect sense, but at least “the ladder is better” offers a bit more coherence. The ladder is better. Better than what? Who knows?
What is known is that the tool known as a Ladder is better than something…
Words can make you think about them too much, I guess…
Do people even pronounce latter and ladder differently?
"My Name's Not Mickey"
Bad cliché imitation reggae was blaring through the crowded tavern’s worn out speakers. Steve was hiding his contempt for the song as the blonde bouncily danced along to the rhythm. “So what do you write?” she shouted.
He downed another gulp of his beer. “Poetry mostly, um… also working on my fourth novel.”
“Cool, what’s it about?” She joked, “A cute writer named Steve?”
“No,” he smirked. “I hate when writers write about characters who are also writers. It’s too obviously autobiographic…” After an awkward pause in which Steve gulped down his remaining beer and said, “No, my book’s about everything. Existence itself. But what about you? What do you do for work?”
“What?” She sped up her movement along with the tune’s tempo.
Steve turned towards the bar. “One more, Mickey!”
The barkeep stomped over with a fresh glass. “Fuck you, kid, my name’s not Mickey.”
The young drunk giggled. “Can’t you get fired for saying fuck to a customer?”
To be continued...
© USA 2009, 2025
This was the ninth part of a cross-genre short story composed in 2009 at the College of Santa Fe.
