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Prompts:

1. Playing around with other people’s imaginations

2. I like a woman who smiles out loud

3. A lazy-ass hippie like me

BEGIN WRITING:

It was just too darn hot yesterday to do much of anything, so I threw a chicken and a couple of onions in the crockpot and set it to cookin’ out on the patio. That was about six in the a.m., I guess, and that’s the most work I accomplished all day.

There’s only me, anyhow, so it don’t matter too much if the toilet gets scrubbed today or tomorrow. It it’s that hot again the rest of the week, it might not get done before Sunday.

I have to say I usually do red up the place on Sundays, in case old Mrs. Mackenzie happens to call. She don’t come too often these days, though. I think she discovered the preachin’ on the TV, and bein’ the lazy-ass hippie she is, she tends to keep her bones warm and comfy at home instead of gettin’ gussied up for church.

I don’t really blame her, I guess. It’s been a fair number of years now since I took myself to church. That was back in the days when Preacher Collins was sermonizin’. Oh, that man could raise the devil and then set him right back down again before the collection plate came around. After he took up with that brazen hussy from Bentonville, though, the church booted him out. The new preacher—calls hisself Reverend Eaton—is a kindly man with a virtuous wife, but he hasn’t got the same fire at the pulpit. I’m not the only one who thinks so, either. I hear attendance went way down when Preacher Collins left with his lipsticked floozy.

Until lately, Mrs. Mackenzie stuck it out. She always speaks politely about Reverend Eaton and can even come up with a real smile for his mousy little wife. I gotta tell you, I like a woman who smiles out loud, and Mrs. Mackenzie is sure one of those. If she likes you, you know it.

“I swear, Glory, you’re gettin’ prettier every time I see you,” she told me last time she was here. Well, it was probably stretchin’ the truth a bit, but I do believe she meant it well.

“Well, so are you,” I said right back at her. Well, a little white lie in a good cause should certainly be allowed, and she really is right pretty when she smiles—except for all the wrinkles and stuff, of course.

Maybe I should tell you a bit about Mrs. Mackenzie, and maybe even a little bit about myself, so’s you can understand how it is that she and I come to be such friends. To do that, though, I gotta go back in time a slew of years, and you’ll have to try and see what things was like back then.

Playin’ around with other folks’ imaginations isn’t my cup of tea, but sometimes you gotta do that.

PENCILS DOWN

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