Brenda walks on the wild side..

Oh, yeah.

Brenda leaned her head back as the wind caressed her streaked hair. At last, a convertible, my own convertible. A burgundy convertible. Laughter trailed after her.

Brenda knew she was hot, so totally hot. The women around her were hags compared to her.  The men who passed by gave her that look, confirming her thoughts. They waved and smiled, that kind of smile that said Hey, babe. Walk on the wild side...

She slammed her foot down on the gas, taking her convertible to its highest speed.  Take that, mustangs.

Brenda slowed just enough to hang the turn into the parking lot.  She skid into a space, one near the Atrium where cards slid across the felt and fortunes fell. Money burned in her red Louis Vuitton purse.

In moments, Brenda was through a door that opened for her.

Brenda eased her walker to an awaiting table. "Hey, ladies. You ready to put your money where your mouth is?" With that, she turned up her hearing aid and slapped down the maximum ante of $3.00. 

"Saw your new golf cart, Brenda!  Could see that you cranked it up to 20 mph this time. Speed will kill you every time. That and Alzheimer's." Hester smirked.

Those around her shook their heads and picked up their cards. Brenda laid her red Louis Vuitton purse on her walker. She had left her cane at home, since her last hip surgery.

Arthritis is a bitch.

Click here to see where Brenda gambles

#03984 is the winning number.

Oh, yeah. 03984

Rick answered the door bell with no expectations at all.  But when he saw the uniform he fought the urge to run, but this one wasn’t blue with a badge---just a postal worker holding out a UPS letter. 

Rick was told that this was a classified letter, First Class and it needed his signature on the green card to verify letter had been received. With shaking hands, Rick signed his name, taking the envelope.

Falling onto the stained couch, Rick cleared the beer cans and mirrors off the table in one sweep.  This is one serious letter, man.  Serious stinkin' serious.  Tearing the tab across cardboard, Rick pulled out a regular envelope.  Lookit!  My name typed ‘n everything!   

Return address was a local Ford Dealer.
  

Then the letter…a real honest letter, with stuff about an award, with his personal number—03984…honored to win his very own 2016 Mustang…Holy crap!  This is real….

My own Mustang?...Rick dropped his head between his knees, contemplating throwing up or passing out.  

Directions indicated prize winners… Winners?...were to check in by 2 pm today…Today?...to allow recipients time to tour the car lot filled with Mustangs of all colors.  

The drawing would be…Today?  Rick stripped off stained torn clothes, found the cleanest spread over the floor, and raced out to his ‘cylce. With a roar, off went Rick, off to pick out his own Mustang.

About twenty men toured around the car lot filled with sharp cool fast Mustangs.  Rick joined them, each reverently touching cars from end to 
end, roof to undercarriage.  Hot sun baked each man, no one cared. After all! Mustangs!

American style

When a bald man, gut-hanging over his belt, called numbers, checking them off.  Nodding abruptly, he explained, “You guys!  Lissen up!  Your number called, you come up with your letter, and we’ll get outta this damn heat.  Inside we’ll make sure you’re who you say you are.” Nodding again, he called the first number.  “O4669?”

Gut guy and 04669 disappeared inside.  Minutes passed, Gut emerged, called out 06322, and the process went on until only Rick was left, clutching his letter, 03984, precious 03984. Letitbemeletitbeme…

Finally, 03984 was called.  His heart pounded in his chest, Here!  It’s my number.  The door opened into the showroom, and Rick’s mouth all but dropped.  Lincolns, Mustangs…I could make big bucks lifting these…

But then, Rick was taken to another room, where a ring of badges anticipated his arrival.  One grabbed Rick, cuffed him, and read the Miranda Rights. 

A big white bus awaited him, filled with all the other award winners, grumbling and shocked.  Just like him. Mustangs grew small as the bus drove away.  I coulda won the cool black one, with the racing stripe.  Yup, I woulda picked that one.

The underlined words were provided by Delores in Wednesday Words in 2015. Rewrites followed and then this is what you read.

This has actually happened several times, where ex-convicts had broken their paroles. But hope springs eternal when it comes to Mustangs.

WedWords: Mustangs

2016

Rick answered the door bell with no expectations at all.  But when he saw the uniform he fought the urge to run, but this one wasn’t blue with a badge---just a postal worker holding out a UPS letter. 

Rick was told that this was a classified letter, First Class and it needed his signature on the green card to verify letter had been received. With shaking hands, Rick signed his name, taking the envelope.

Falling onto the stained couch, Rick cleared the beer cans and mirrors off the table in one sweep.  This is one serious letter, man.  Serious m….f….g serious.  Tearing the tab across cardboard, Rick pulled out a regular envelope.  Lookit!  My name typed ‘n everything!   Return address was a local Ford Dealer.  What the f#*)--Ford?

Then the letter…a real honest letter, with stuff about an award, with his personal number—03984…honored to win his very own 2016 Mustang…Holy crap!  This is real….

fast, so fast

My own Mustang…no s*$^?...Rick dropped his head between his knees, contemplating throwing up or passing out.  Sure as h*&& did that last night—all over this dump.

Directions indicated prize winners… Winners?...were to check in by 2 pm today…Today?...to allow recipients time to tour the car lot filled with mustangs of all colors.  

The drawing would be…Today?  Rick stripped off stained torn clothes, found the cleanest spread over the floor, and raced out to his ‘cylce.  Start, dammit! Start! With a roar, off went Rick, off to pick out his own Mustang.

About twenty men roamed around the car lot filled with sharp cool fast Mustangs.  Rick joined them, each reverently touching cars from end to end, roof to undercarriage.  Hot sun baked each man, none cared;  After all…Mustangs!

When a bald man, gut hangin over his belt, called numbers, checking them off.  Nodding abruptly, he explained, “You guys!  Lissen up!  Your number called, you come up with your letter, and we’ll get outta this damn heat.  Inside we’ll make sure you’re who you say you are.” Nodding again, he called the first number.  “O4669?”

Gut guy and 04669 disappeared inside.  Minutes passed, Gut emerged, called out 06322, and the process went on until only Rick was left, clutching his letter, 03984, precious 03984. Letitbemeletitbeme…

Car Rally of 429 Mustangs

Finally, 03984 was called.  His heart pounded in his chest, Here!  It’s my number.  The door opened into the show room, and Rick’s mouth all but dropped.  Lincoln, Mustangs…I could make big bucks lifting these…

But then, Rick was taken to another room, where a ring of badges anticipated his arrival.  One grabbed Rick, cuffed him, and read the Miranda Rights. 

A big white bus awaited him, filled with all the other award winners, grumbling and shocked.  Just like him.

Mustangs grew small as the bus drove away.  I coulda won the cool black one, with the racing stripe.  Yup, I woulda picked that one.

This story is actually true and has been used as a way to round up criminals with outstanding warrants.  Worked every time. The Simpson Show even had an episode with this idea.

Sorry this is sooooo long. Not my style at all.

This Wednesday, Make every moment count has posted 6 to 12 words to be used by any blogger who wish to enjoy a break from the serious stuff.  Use these words to write fiction, prose, poetry, flash fiction, etc.  Either post it on your own site and link it back to Every Moment or  make your addition to her blog site comment section.

The underlined bold italicized words are this week's words.  Hope you enjoyed how they were used.

Also, many thanks to Delores at Under the Porch Light who started this writing stir up, and to Elephant's Child who took up the the challenge. And also to River who grasped the baton to pass on, then to J. Blethers and now Every Moment.  Brave bloggers, talented and devoted.

Go on with it!  Fling yourself out into the unknown!

G-H post: part 2-- Gift of Sacred Dog

From this source

How the horse came to the New World is fairly well documented.  Spanish and French explorers shipped them over early on in their conquest of the New World.  

Some horses either escaped or were left behind.  These horses became the mustangs, the wild horses that filled the plains and dominated history for the Native Americans.

But, questions niggles at my brain:  what did the indigenous tribes think about the horse?  Did they realize what the horse would give them?  Did they view the horse as an extension of the Spanish, as an animal to serve them, or what??

The book, Gift of the Sacred Dog, grants the reader a better answer about the horse.

The horse benefited the Native Americans, allowing them to survive and prosper.  At least for a while, anyway. 

This G-H dual post celebrates the beauty, nobility, and power of the horse, one of God’s creatures.

See you tomorrow on the I-J posts:  Icons of Just living...