Five Card Story: The Route To

a Five Card Flickr story by r. damerons created Mar 15 2016, 01:20:52 pm. Create a new one!

flickr photo credits: (1) bionicteaching (2) bionicteaching (3) shareski (4) cogdogblog (5) whistlepunch

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Once I crossed into the vast expanse of the open field, I decided to give up; I was through with trying to find him. If he didn't want me to find him, that was up to him. I swallowed back the guilt in my decision, and made my way back to the road, where my car awaited me, humming in place. I peddled down the road, thoughts still wrapped up in wherever he was hiding, and why he didn't want me to find him. At some point, I looked over and found a scrap piece of paper wedged between the seats adjacent to me. During the next red light, I tugged on the paper and managed to read it quickly: it was a list of groceries to buy on the front, with the bare bones of an address scrawled on the back. Just a street name, and a P.O. box. It wasn't my handwriting - it was his, and the paper seemed fresh and newly ripped out, so I just knew he left it there and was waiting for me to read it and find him. Switching into the next lane, and next exit following, I drove towards the address, brow furrowing and anger increasing; I couldn't believe he was leading me on this wild goose chase for no good reason other than just to get a kick out of it. At the address, and upon sight of the mailbox, I pulled over and stepped out furiously, looking for him, when I heard a swelling of music in the background, already playing since I had pulled into the street, transition into a tune of romance at my arrival. A quirky cast of band members, behind the glass of the building from where the P.O box sat, was strumming mildly in my direction. I inched forward, and there he was: playing the guitar, unabashedly, smiling at my combination of fury, surprise, and something else...

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<hr /><h2><a href="http://5card.cogdogblog.com/show.php?id=38832">Five Card Story: The Route To</a></h2>a <a href="http://5card.cogdogblog.com/show.php?suit=5card">Five Card Flickr</a> story created by r. damerons
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/29096601@N00/12276918873/"><img src="https://farm8.static.flickr.com/7295/12276918873_56aafdbc8b_d.jpg" /></a> flickr photo by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/29096601@N00/12276918873/" target="_blank">bionicteaching</a>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/29096601@N00/11572402065/"><img src="https://farm4.static.flickr.com/3834/11572402065_8183256b50_d.jpg" /></a> flickr photo by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/29096601@N00/11572402065/" target="_blank">bionicteaching</a>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/91312924@N00/8951868859/"><img src="https://farm4.static.flickr.com/3700/8951868859_92a51fd72e_d.jpg" /></a> flickr photo by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/91312924@N00/8951868859/" target="_blank">shareski</a>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/37996646802@N01/4448566038/"><img src="https://farm5.static.flickr.com/4010/4448566038_91276a1c81_d.jpg" /></a> flickr photo by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/37996646802@N01/4448566038/" target="_blank">cogdogblog</a>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/10347442@N00/13658899453/"><img src="https://farm6.static.flickr.com/5347/13658899453_08ba23fd13_d.jpg" /></a> flickr photo by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/10347442@N00/13658899453/" target="_blank">whistlepunch</a>
Once I crossed into the vast expanse of the open field, I decided to give up; I was through with trying to find him. If he didn't want me to find him, that was up to him. I swallowed back the guilt in my decision, and made my way back to the road, where my car awaited me, humming in place. I peddled down the road, thoughts still wrapped up in wherever he was hiding, and why he didn't want me to find him. At some point, I looked over and found a scrap piece of paper wedged between the seats adjacent to me. During the next red light, I tugged on the paper and managed to read it quickly: it was a list of groceries to buy on the front, with the bare bones of an address scrawled on the back. Just a street name, and a P.O. box. It wasn't my handwriting - it was his, and the paper seemed fresh and newly ripped out, so I just knew he left it there and was waiting for me to read it and find him. Switching into the next lane, and next exit following, I drove towards the address, brow furrowing and anger increasing; I couldn't believe he was leading me on this wild goose chase for no good reason other than just to get a kick out of it. At the address, and upon sight of the mailbox, I pulled over and stepped out furiously, looking for him, when I heard a swelling of music in the background, already playing since I had pulled into the street, transition into a tune of romance at my arrival. A quirky cast of band members, behind the glass of the building from where the P.O box sat, was strumming mildly in my direction. I inched forward, and there he was: playing the guitar, unabashedly, smiling at my combination of fury, surprise, and something else...
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flickr photo credits: (1) bionicteaching (2) bionicteaching (3) shareski (4) cogdogblog (5) whistlepunch

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