Noir writing is a quirky genre that depicts old gangsters and cops with twists and turns for the good guys and the bad guys. It says words like "dames" and usually features a male protagonist with a good femme fatale (and student thought the foreign phrase was useless - I scoff!). I always hear Joe Friday's voice from Dragnet when I read Noir stories, the way he talks and squeezes out his words with a whistle and drawl.
Anyway - I entered and would love to have your votes! Please go to http://yankeeexposure.blogspot.com/2012/05/lets-get-right-to-it-i-recently-held.html and vote for me!
We had to finish a story already started by the original blogger.
"2am: The drizzle of rain was cold but welcomed, I was walking on a empty dark city street…it was quiet, the rain slicked street glistened with the neon sign of a local bar flashing against the black tar of the night. The only sound that could be heard is the sound of the electricity going through the tubes of the sign and pulsating every few seconds as the sign blinks and strains to turn off and then on again. Seems like a struggle that will continue on for sometime.
The bar has been closed for some time now, the neon lights serve as a reminder that the place exists and I should come back in the daylight. I don’t think so. I have spent my hours this evening on a bar stool at another bar a few miles away. Seems like the flashing neon is a sign to the dark city that it’s time to wash away the troubles of today as a new morn is approaching..this is good news for me..as…........"
My entry (#14):
...the boss expects my report in the morning. I've ducked out two days already, but the blood trail will go cold if I suck down one more brew. I need time to think, to cast the shadows in another direction.
It isn't entirely my fault. Why can't these dames stay home when the sun goes down? I can't resist a woman in a dress, drawn lines up her thighs; makes my mind race, my hands shake.
The bartender is lookin' at me again and I don't like the looks of him. I may just tell him to go to hell, but - hey, well, look at you.
"I'm Betty," the lady said.
"Why, yes. You are..."
"It's a cool night out there, sure could use a drink."
"Why, yes. You could. Bartender, a whiskey sour and keep em' coming."
Her laugh was infectious. Paperwork be dammed.
The neon light grew faint in the distance, Betty by my side, while we took a stroll to the next alley; and then I, to the next bar with a neon light. ~ CMcGowan
I am entry #14 ~CMcGowan. Stop by and vote for me!!!! :-)