dreamszilla

Two cops go looking for a mob boss who has been behaving oddly, and they're surprised by what they find. Image generated with OpenAI "Disgusting," grunted the tall, burly police lieutenant Scotty Niven, as he trod his way gingerly through patches of tall grass and clumps of litter, to the entrance of the dimly lit estate. "And this is the home of a big mob boss?" queried the slim, young police rookie Ryan Smith at his side. "I don't get it." "Frankly, neither do I," said the lieutenant, ringing the doorbell. "Alberto Grigio has been in Vegas for several weeks, where he dropped a fortune. Maybe he can tell us what's been going on here. His home and his gang have deteriorated, and I for one would like to know why." A tired, slovenly looking woman brandishing a duster yanked open the door and looked over the two policemen. "Cops, eh?" she muttered. "Mr. Grigio ain't in." "Where is he?" insisted...

Recently divorced Alvin resents the engraving on the watch his ex-wife gave him. Image generated with OpenAI He had to take care of the watch, now that the papers were signed. A Rado DiaStar. A prized possession. Not up for debate in the negotiation with his ex-wife Linda and her lawyer. It weighed heavy on his mind and his wrist. Alvin grabbed his coat and walked outside. It was a grey day in March, although the weather had not committed to rain. The first thing he saw when he left the building was Smith & Wollensky. Leave it to New York to have a steakhouse that sounded like a law firm. He headed north and tried to free up his mind from the heaviness of the last few months. And erase what he had seen from Linda. The wind had picked up, but he walked headlong into it. It took him back to those early spring practices when he ran track in high school. When, in spite of the March bite, all seemed open and possible. A bus roared past and splashed water from the street. Alvin was back ...

Aditya is about to leave Bangalore, but not before he bumps into a forgotten acquaintance at his new flatmate's housewarming party. Image generated with OpenAI I am waiting at the balcony for the guests to arrive when I see a guy in beige enter our apartment complex. He looks in my direction as he comes inside the gate. He reminds me of someone, so I wave at him. He looks away. It crosses my mind that he might not be a guest of ours. Shortly after, I hear the doorbell ring. I open the door to find, sure enough, the guy in beige. Standing on our welcome mat, turning towards me, as if he'd been busy scoping the area. "Nish," the guy in beige says, his eyes downcast, posture stooped, and manner resigned. "Adi," I say, returning his handshake. "Pleased to meet you," I add. He gives the smallest of nods and runs his hands through his artfully tousled hair. "Ravi is just finishing up his work. Please make yourself comfortable," I say. Ravi ...

A young man with ambitions to be a wrestler attends his local low-grade match, and has a more adventurous evening than he expected. Image generated with OpenAI It was only the third time the wrestlers came to town, first since I'd left high school, where such events were always hosted. We got the dregs here. Like, our main event would be a bathroom-break prelim at a big arena show, and on that night both our main eventers no-showed anyway. But tickets were cheap, and the matches gave us an excuse to revisit our old stomping grounds, where I hadn't stomped since they'd asked me to leave for the last time, two years prior, placing this around 1991, '92 at the latest. "Hey, look, it's Rocky Coast," I said. "Out mingling with the marks." Yeah, I was hip to the talk. A few years earlier, I had replied to an ad in one of the newsstand magazines and bought some out-of-market matches on homemade VHS tapes; my vendors had pointed me towards some insider s...