Gimmicks

Jerry the Leech was a gimmicks man. He sold gimmicks to young writers.
"Okay, here's one. A new one. Brand new. The hook, it's rather simple, but it's just enough. A man wakes up. You know the man, ordinary man, boring ole guy. He wakes up and starts looking for his shoes, he just can't find em. He looks in his closet, in his bathroom, on the roof of his car; his shoes are gone. So, he sits on his bed, resigns to a life without shoes. He looks down at his feet and notices his socks are gone too. He swears he remembers putting socks on, but now, pale little toes are digging around in the rug. He goes on the same quest for his socks. In the couch, in the laundry, under his cat. Now there are no shoes and no socks. He sits back down. This is where it turns. He feels that tingly feeling in his feet, the feeling we all get, asleep. He reaches down to rub em, get the blood moving... and his feet are gone. Straight disappeared. He looks back on his day, how he looked around for his shoes, how he searched for his socks. But, how's he gonna look for his feet. Feet don't just walk away. He tries anyway. Crawling around on the floor, his little nubs dragging behind him. He looks under the sink, on top of the fridge, down the hall. No fucking feet. Not one toenail. This goes on throughout the day. His hands go, his knees, his kidney, his pecker... gone gone gone. He just keeps looking. Eventually it's just a head rolling around on the floor. Then that's it. I guess you could throw in a moral, or some sort of epilogue. I wouldn't, but it's your story now."
He worked mostly on the corner. Under a bridge on the weekends. Nice guy, Jerry.
"You don't like that one. Alright. I was saving this one, but i'll give you a peek. It's Friday. All is right in the world when our boy, a... we'll call him Todd. Todd gets ready to go to work. Normal. Normal. Normal. He gets on the street, everyone is cheering for him. Ladies are flashing their tits. I mean, Todd is a celebrity. He doesn't get it. He can't believe it. Then BANG. The clouds open above him. Biblical. Huge grey sparking clouds. And this beam of light comes out of the sky and starts pulling him into the sky. Sucking him up into space. The people on earth are still freaking out, cheering, waving flags, having weird fucked up sex. He can see them all as he rises toward the hole in the clouds. Then, i don't know. He fucking, i don't know. That's all you get for now. Just that would get you published in a heartbeat. First line of that and you're on the New York Times best seller thing, or whatever. It's gold."
Jerry's parents hated him.

Boat captains

he looks like he rows a boat. she looks like she rows a boat. they both must understand the terminology of sea travel. him with his hard calves. his khaki shorts. and her with her long ballerina stilts. Both of a handsome birth. Likely related in some way. Or at least sworn to one another by oil barrens at birth.
The cruelty of the world is that in their sex there is nothing. They are able bodied formations. Great aesthetic beacons. Yet they touch like molded plastics.
Her hair is a great sea water shape. Moving above and below the collar. He pays it no mind. Busy interpreting the message and meaning of tricks. They'll both die rich. Her frail body will give way to children. And the cycle will continue. Pure bred silver tongues from this future and beyond.

Poor man

Poor men walk the streets of Salt Lake brandishing samurai swords. In past lives they were soldiers and investment bankers. Now they beg for loose change while laughing at birds and critters catching bread.
We should all be sick, but only notice when their cardboard signs interrupt our morning coffee. Some of them liars and some thieves, all people. All desperate. Cracked teeth and brown gums. Dry skin. They made that awful mistake of mistakes. Allowing life to compound and erupt. Now they act like scavengers. Gnarled finger tips that once shook on good faith now tremble in October.
I hand them folded dollars to get rid of them. To cut the conversation short. To ease my conscience and help me relax at night. Makes the hours of video games and fast food feel less damning if I remind myself of the kindness. The great leaps and bounds of my altruism. How without god I reached out to the wretched scattered ones.

Money

Every night before I lay down I kiss every nickel and dime in the house. I tell them I love them and that they are my world. The larger bills I tuck in like children. I tell them stories about when I found them. About the structures I built to maintain them. I know this seems odd, but this is how I became the man I am today.
You see, not too long ago I was a junkie. I was nearing the edge like so many before me. A moment away from the great and wretched here after. Standing on that bridge right there I nearly jumped. I had sold my last pair of shoes. Thrown my books into the ocean. Tore the pictures of my youth to pieces. What saved me you ask. This right here. This beautiful bronze colored diamond golden thing. This penny. Minted in the year 2002 of our lord. Tenderly poured from the line and distributed to the masses. This beautiful thing reached out to me from a sand dune. It winked in the high noon sun. You see, before I jumped I saw the brilliant bright flash of a distant future. A future of high stacks of green colors. I thank God for money. I trust God. I trust each slip of paper the teller hands me.