The Side Car

This is perhaps my favorite drink.  The English novelist with one leg, who gave me the next nickname Tom Poet, introduced me to this drink. He drank like a man with a hollow leg.  His joke not mine.  IF HE WANTED TO BE A COMEDIAn I told him he had no leg to stand on.  That’s how it went on “The Deck” in the sun with the drinks flowing.  This may be the best drink that came out of prohibition.  Sometimes you make the best of what you have.  There is a legend behind the Sidecar as well.



Check out the legend here.





  • 1 1/2 oz Brandy 

  • 1 oz Cointreua

  • 1/2 oz lemon juice

  • Lemon twist for garnish

  • sugar for rimming (optional)


  1. If desired, rim a chilled cocktail glass with sugar.

  2. Pour the ingredients into a cocktail shaker with ice cubes.

  3. Shake well.

  4. Strain into the prepared cocktail glass.

  5. Garnish with a lemon twist

  6. Get hammered

Morning Sunshine

Woke to the sound of horses
They live on the second floor,
The neighbors across the way are putting in a railroad
Through all this
The dripping of the coffee and the electric toothbrush
The TV chattered< I wanted to take aim See if I could hit my target Blind shots into the floorboards But I don’t eat horsemeat So I sipped some coffee Mint Brushed again I am going diesel powered this year Maybe do a little fracturing in the backyard Starting a garage band And answering every question with a BWAHHHHH! It’s a new year bust out the pots, pans and Mallets. Make it coal Smokey black coal cigarettes Some dope from the dopes And a yapping Pomeranian with a megaphone I want to startle the snow into ice And shatter all dreams of peace Cause logic says Politics are decided down the barrel of a gun BWAHHHHH The milk is curdled Looks like sourdough coffee by the side of the railroad tracks.

Always Sunny On Fulton


It is 100 word Friday thanks to Rochelle Wisoff Fields.  Links can be found here.


Copyright Jean L. Hays



Greg did not come for the coffee or the company of people. It was the view he loved. He sat by the window, his eyes turned in the direction of Julia. The details printed into memory, an actor’s role in a play. He knew what he would say. He had practiced a thousand times.

“More Coffee?”


Her hazel eyes met his. Stage fright set in. He stuttered, blushed and whispered words only he could hear.



She walked away, turned to look back and smiled.

The words did not matter.

The stained glass sun rising over new love.

A Christmas Star

It is 100 word Friday thanks to Rochelle Wisoff Fields.  Links can be found here.

I really wanted to write something happy this week.  Something  with a little holiday cheer but when I clicked on the photo prompt I was instantly overwhelmed by the cute cat and couldn’t help but think about my best friend and his family who lost their Cat Star on Tuesday night.

Copyright-Scott L. Vannatter


Star was warmth in your home but on a cold night she’d steal your heat.  Even the allergic one respected her.

“Cats don’t have masters they have a staff”.

When you slept on the couch Star rode your hip, a log in a river.  Eight lives used up by fights and cars.  The south side bay window is where she spent her ninth life.  Heart disease robbed her balance.  Star went palsy climbing the stairs and had to be put down.   The little one’s innocence stolen by the first shovel of dirt.

“Uncle Tommy my cat died”.

“I know James”.

You Don’t need Many


Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff Fields it is 100 word Friday.  Links can be found here.


Copyright -Douglas M. MacIlroy



Captain typed “Twenty fuckin’ years locking up scumbags”.

He grabbed for the snips, cut some wire, bent the chicken wire with the needle nose and took a sip of his Budweiser.

“Nothing changes, always another one to replace them”.

The project sat in the Bucket. He stared at the computer screen.

“You give your life, doing what’s good and you have nothing to show for it.  That’s why I like building things.  You have something to show for at the end of the day.”

Another message popped up.  A twig snapped.  He reached for his .38.

“Captain ?”

“That you Sarge ?”

Mirror Mirror Mirror

Well it’s Wednesday and that could only mean one thing… that it’s 100 word Friday.  Last week I was busy with life.   This week I have a glass of red wine in my hand and the keyboards under the touch of my fingers. Ohhh the joy. I added last week’s prompt into this post and made another image of this week’s prompt.  That’s three for one if you are following me. Oh Mirror Mirror!


Once again Thanks to Rochelle Winsoff Fields.  All links can be found here.


This week’s Prompt.

Copyright-Rich Vosa



The sterile shine blinds anyone who looks into the floorboards.  Twenty years ago Joey’s girlfriend Mary took her life.   She cut her throat with a spoon she started sharpening on Thanksgiving.  Mary committed suicide on Christmas morning outside of room 4k.  Every morning Joey the Janitor polishes the floor hoping to see her face in the mirror like shine of the floorboards. It is believed that on Christmas Eve night if you say “Mary Christmas” three times while looking into the reflection of the floorboards she will appear and take the life of a young man.  Have a Mary Christmas!


Now for something from the gut…….and a little more my style.


Looking forward I saw the past, interchanging links on a bracelet. Spaghetti string, the infinity mirror, some guy on NCIS and myself. Bright and shining with two rooms to take. I couldn’t help but ask “Where the fuck is door number three?” Mirror, Mirror on the wall who is the fairest of them all? Repeat through the shadows, caught in the dark spaces between the floorboards. The bright light reflection kept coming back. As if there was more to it and is if there was one more than two choices. The future or the past? Here was the present.









Easter egg blue bled into her Christmas sky.  A birthday was about to be celebrated but she felt death without rising. She turned her hands, palms out, shrugged her shoulders and raised her arms to the side.  Her cross to bear Carla walked into Nostrums.  Jeff turned and watched her shadow go through the revolving door, the lone bag filled with cards hung from his arm. He stood frozen, wishing for a white Christmas. Hoping she wouldn‘t do it.  But Carla gave in, the credit card burned red and green smoke.  What Christianity stole from the pagans capitalisms gave back.