This is a drabble, a one-hundred-word account.

Greetings from Trastevere. For some reasons I thought night shots never amount to anything. Photo: MM

I steak you

Just today in Roma I entered a shop with many shirts.

I saw a shirt that I would buy if it wasn’t in one colour only, ugly brown. On it were a bear and a girl (or was it a boy?) walking hand in hand. The bear was huge.

They appeared pensive. There was a think bubble with a drawing hovering next to each head.

In hers was: A heart.

In his was: A steak.

The reason I entered this shop was its name.

It is called: Trust Nobody.

He said later: “But they didn’t need to be so blunt.”

≈ Manja Maksimovič ≈

Silent Sunday, July 19th

100 words for D.

And quietly, without a sound, some dear people are heading somewhere else. 
That's what it said on the desk.
Ugly dream.
Past friends, future friends, another song of the same band says.
I know your handwriting. I know you to the depths of your signature, I once wrote, for you. You never read it, it was between past and future.
We never know when we shall meet again. I spurred it on a little and invited you to see the reunion show. For a past birthday.
Today it’s here again. Have two songs, one dog and me who is staying.

Fortunetelling drabble

A drabble is a 100-word story. This line doesn’t count. I wrote one about the stylish vet, another about the best possible PJ companion. This one is older.

A visit to his daughter. We enter the trailer. She’s in there with a colleague. Gypsy-looking. They have upturned coffee cups, inspecting the grounds.

The gypsy looks straight into my eyes.

“Why doesn’t she do it, I can see she knows how.”

You must know that about me: I’m of earth and the sea, I can land an ear and offer a perspective, but I don’t do it this way.

The shock doesn’t show.

I take the cup and feel his eyes widen.

“There will be a three-way, and you will stick to the middle.”

Such fraud. Unless it’s Freud.

About photo: Bosnian-style coffee serving with a Drina in Das ist Valter, Ljubljana, Slovenia.

≈ Manja Maksimovič ≈

Pearl Jam drabble (100 words)

An extra ticket waits for somebody to complete the expected 30,000 people. Sis told her facebook, put an ad online, nothing.

I tell her to go wider, call long lost people. I can hear her thinking over the phone. She will.

Later, a message: “Done, the ticket goes to the best possible candidate”. Do I want to be told or prefer a surprise?

It only takes a second.

“Sašo Jovanovič.”

“Come on, Manja,” in mock disappointment.

And only she knows that no, I wasn’t cheating. Her gallant prom date didn’t inform me of her call.

She did say best possible.

≈ Manja Maksimovič ≈

Another time after another PJ concert: Prague, 2012, leaving here. Photo: MM

Vet drabble

A drabble is an exactly 100-word story. This one is real and happened today.

“Bronchitis,” he said, “from the worms. Do you want to observe them under the microscope?”

A very hands-on vet. In his case, hands blacker than black, delivering the shot gently and deftly. His forest green scrubs in a magic dance with his skin tone.

And later again, after single-handedly handling the dog and the ex-ray machine: “Look, these are his lungs. And this is the shadow.” My Italian is getting there, his Italian has a Tuscan home. Good that you’re fluent, and there. Even though you couldn’t see the worms.

“It’s because he’s a human, not a machine,” you explain.

≈ Manja Maksimovič ≈

Police will handle this in no time. Well-worn gift courtesy of Yolanda. Photo: MM