Skip to content

MR LOWERY NEEDS A JOB . . . A Play In One Act

September 5, 2012

CAST OF CHARACTERS

HARRY LOWERY:        A young man, desperately in need of a job.

He wears a frayed sport shirt, faded

jeans and sneakers.  His hair is scruffy,

his face weathered.  A scar the shape of

California is above his eye and his nose

cants to one side.

MR. KINCADE:      A fifty year-old interviewer for the

Department of Employment.  He wears a

tailored suit, crisp white shirt and

conservative tie.

MARSHALL:            One of the co-workers.  He is a presence,

reacting to MR. KINCADE’S questions and

comments, but doesn’t speak.

BETTY:                       Also, one of the co-workers and a silent

reactor.

Gallery:                        People waiting for their interview.  Could

be a painted prop.

SETTING

A New York City employment agency.  A desk sits center stage with a swivel chair behind it and a straight back chair to its side.  The usual business accouterments are on the desk, including a large nameplate with ARTHUR KINCADE on it. Behind the desk are an indeterminate number of other “manned” desks, all but two of them always in complete shadow; those other two, more penumbral, are situated side-by-side, behind and a little to the right of KINCADE’S desk.  Stage left, in shadow, a nearly full gallery of people await their names being called.  On the wall behind the gallery, a door is “suggested” exiting outside by the occasional sound of blustery weather when it opens, followed by grumbling of people in the gallery.  Alongside the “phantom” door, a picture window reveals bitter cold weather outside.

TIME

Present day.

ACT I

SCENE 1

SETTING:         A New York City Department of

Employment.  A desk, center stage,

with a straight-back chair to its

side.  To the rear of that desk,

an indeterminate number of similar

“Manned” desks, all but two of

which may be props, since they are

always in “near-total” shadow.

The other two desks, a little to

the right of the center-stage

desk are more in penumbral.  To

the left of center-stage desk, a

gallery, nearly full, stage left,

running front to rear.  Large

picture window center-stage, rear,

showing continually blustery

weather.

AT RISE:          HARRY LOWERY in a chair beside the

Center stage desk.  MR. KINCADE

sits behind desk.

HARRY

Spiritually defective, sir, I was born a gypsy with a limp.  Being Castilian Spanish on my mother’s side, I early longed for warm sands and siestas.

(MR. KINCADE shakes his head in disbelief)

HARRY

My father?  Father was always in the navy… somewhere.

MR. KINCADE

Okay…  Okay…  Listen to me, Mr. Lowery, if I’m going to help you, you’ll have to help me.

HARRY

And, I want to!  Indeed!  You see, I read early, sir.  Before attending school I had already gathered words, raw or ripe and succulent… words which would prepare me, though I certainly didn’t know it at that green age, for my first liberation.

MR. KINCADE

What!  My God!  You’re really not going to let me help you, are you?

HARRY

Yes, but you must remember, wherever our travels took us, Mother had always retained a fatal memory of Spain.  And, I was her Don Quixote.

MR. KINCADE

(Smiling)

Don Quixote…

HARRY

And, that was rich fodder for my vestigial spirit.

MR. KINCADE

So, he was wealthy, your father?

HARRY

Ha!  Fodder–father… A bon mot it would take a saint to resist, sir!  But, it is deserving of an answer.  I’ll try.  As a child I did so love my mother, but–oh!–how I venerated my father who–

MR. KINCADE

(Dryly)

–was in the navy…

HARRY

He was always on a ship on a sea, somewhere.

MR. KINCADE

(With rising impatience.)

Tell me… Please tell me, Mr. Lowery, how I can use this?  Can you tell me how?  I find employment for deserving people.  How’s all that you’re telling me relevant?

HARRY

Why… why, it’s relevant to the deepest level, sir!  Just listen: while other children waited for their Christmases and played ever toward the sunset as sheriffs pounding the badlands on persistent ponies, I…

(Somewhat sadly subdued)

well… I was hunted down and captured by a different law.

MR. KINCADE

A different law?  A… different… law?  You were captured by a different law?

HARRY

Si, Senor.  As an outcast, I sat, open book in lap, on a thousand divergent hillsides daily, numbering the grasses of Marceilles, Berlin, Stalingrad, Barcelona.  Countless lands and odors swept beneath my feet before I grew tired of these wanderings at last, and left home, primed and suffering for the real experience.

(Touching his fingertips as counting, eyes closed)

At about… twenty, you might set it.  Of course, at twenty, the vicissitudes of existence–

MR. KINCADE

Oh, come on, Mr. Lowery!  Vicissitudes?

HARRY

Yes, vicissitudes of–of existence brought with it a sort of capriciousness.  The universe, you see, even my thin sheet of it, was too vast a promise.  How I would sweat and stifle under the thought of total embrace!  A short stint in each place was my victory.  Certainly, a continual change of employment was imperative.

MR. KINCADE

Ah-ha!  so, there it is!  So obvious, how could I have missed it?  Job instability!

HARRY

I suppose, sir, by your defining system…

MR. KINCADE

(Tapping the end of a sheaf of papers against

the desk, setting the stack neatly lined up at

its edge.)

That would be my defining system–job instability.  Would you expect anything less than that being my defining system?  Now, would you, Mr. Lowery?

HARRY

No… to be sure, I would not.  You were born for your chair and desk, no?  You mastered numbers first, and only later the alphabet.  Algebra was your glory.  The geography of literature and art were your bane.

MR. KINCADE

So, my soul has always been dry as crackers?  Is that what you’re saying, Mr. Lowery?

HARRY

No, no, no, sir!  I recant.  I recant!  Just now I detected your early resistance to that dryness.  The use of that scintillating simile, “dry as crackers,” is proof aplenty of that!  There was a time, I reckon, you carried inside you a melody your soul hummed to–huh?–a melody that was not anchored to the demands of your watch or calendar?

MR. KINCADE

You need to ask yourself, Mr. Lowery, if you really want a job.

HARRY

Ah…

(Long pause, looking down at his hands.)

MR. KINCADE

(Fidgeting, then, speaking haltingly.)

Twenty-some years ago, fresh out of college, I was given the opportunity of being the historian for a confederacy of Indian tribes.  The confederate chief, or medicine man or… whatever he was, had been given my name by my creative writing professor–

HARRY

As I suspected!  A writer!

MR. KINCADE

It was agreed I would be taking my car.  The chief–I’ll call him Chief–was widowed.  His teenaged daughter would be traveling with us.  She was beautiful.  The first time I saw her she was wearing a tan, buckskin skirt and her black-as-tar hair was pulled back in two braids.  And, just as in Hollywood, she had feathers tethered to each.

HARRY

You loved her.

MR. KINCADE

Love!  What did I know of love?  I wasn’t over twenty.

(Clicking his pen’s retractor against a paper.)

Besides, everything fizzled out, anyway.

HARRY

But, surely you went.

MR. KINCADE

I told you it fizzled out!  I was young.  Impressionable.  They could easily have killed me, stolen my car, money….

HARRY

They could have, sure.  It will always be a question mark, won’t it?

MR. KINCADE

Question mark… question mark…

(A long silence, uncomfortable for both.)

Let’s see if we can put an answer to another question mark.  Is there a job out there you are qualified for, Mr. Lowery?

HARRY

I would relish that, sir!

MR. KINCADE

Well… But, according to my defining system, you suffer from a malady that we in this business call job instability.

HARRY

I can appreciate that, sir.  But I was just a youngster.

MR. KINCADE

Yes, yes, yes, a youngster.  I’ll remember.  I will remember that.  But you’re older now, aren’t you?  So…

HARRY

And wiser, sir, older and wiser.

MR. KINCADE

Still… we have these pesky vicissitudes–your lack of experience.  It’s just not as simple as–

HARRY

But, I am strong, sir.  Years of work are still in me.  Look…

(Flexing his bicep.)

Here, let me make a muscle.  There must be something on the wharves for me.

MR. KINCADE

No.

HARRY

Or sanitation?  Or carpentry… building things.  I’d like that.  Building things.  Yes…

MR. KINCADE

No.  And, no.

HARRY

(Leaping to his feet.)

Ha!  Of course!  It’s my nose, isn’t it?  You can’t keep your eyes off its eastern cant and the scar the shape of California above my eye.  You have me cast in the role of a troublemaker, don’t you sir?  A thug?

MR. KINCADE

(Turning in his swivel chair to his co-workers

at the two desks behind him.  As he addresses

them, their work areas are slightly illuminated.)

A thug?  Betty?  Marshall?  Listen, will you?  I may need you as witnesses.  Tell me, would I call a client a thug?

(The two shake their heads.)

HARRY

I assure you, I’m not a thug, mis amigos.  I bow to the three of you and beg you to listen.

(With energetic pantomime.)

The scenario: A right cross flattened a very handsome nose.  Then, when I dropped my guard, a left hook sent blood and cartilage spraying the corner post off which my head then rebounded.  In merry old England, the venue.  My take, five quid.  To staunch the blood and suture the gash took six.  But it wasn’t thuggery, sirs and madame.  The rules of Queensbury blithely presided.  Prince Charles himself was ringside, I was told.  That is, before he left to change his spattered shirt while I lay, taking the count.

MR. KINCADE

(Smiling, as are his co-workers.)

It must have been quite an honor, though….

HARRY

(Glances from one to the other, then smiling

broadly, he salutes each and sits down.)

To be sure it was an honor!  Who wouldn’t be thrilled to be courted by royalty?  To be twenty-one and flattened by a burly Brit before his prince.  Indeed, a high honor!

MR. KINCADE

(Back in control.  Not smiling.  His

co-workers, no longer illuminated, have

sunk back into the shadows.)

So, you were twenty-one.  Your application says you’re twenty-four.  Between then and now?

HARRY

How was I occupied?

MR. KINCADE

Specifically, your employment.

HARRY

A gaucho on the Pampas–that for a start.  A solitary gaucho in Argentina, I herded the fattest and laziest cattle that ever nibbled the lush grassland at the base of the Andes.

MR. KINCADE

You might guess, Mr. Lowery, there’s little demand for cowboys in the city.

HARRY

No surprise there.  Still, only on the open sea is there anything approaching the profound vastness and solitude one experiences on the Pampas.  The Pampas was my sea.  My sea…  Father would understand that.  Which might have explained his choices.

MR. KINCADE

Your father again!  Why do I put up with this?

(To his co-workers behind him)

Marshall, you and Betty would have shown him the door already.

(The co-workers’ work areas is just briefly illuminated, then goes

back into shadow.)

MR. KINDADE

Have I lost my edge?  Am I getting soft?

HARRY

Still, Father’s understanding of it will be his legacy to me–someday, when he finds me.  Or I him.  And, when I paint for him the magnificent vastness of the Pampas I know he will just smile because he already knows and he will know, then, my understanding of the sea, and we both will know that our souls will have just then touched, at last–at long last–in that wordless, vastness inside each of us.

MR. KINCADE

And someday when vastness is a tangible commodity employers pay wages for… your name will be the first to pop into my mind.  I promise you that, Mr. Lowery.  In the meantime…

HARRY

I absolutely understand.  Onward sirs…

(Tipping an imaginary hat to MR. KINCADE and,

with a turn in his chair to the other two.

There is again a mini-flash of illumination at

their work stations.)

…and madame, onward!  I was a fisherman for one run off the Islands of Galapagos.

MR. KINCADE

And, why just… one… run?

HARRY

Why, because it was payment enough for my passage to Italy.

It was spring you see.

MR. KINCADE

But, I don’t see!  I don’t see at all!

HARRY

Spring–you must know!  The time of renewal, of rebirth.  My soul cried for Firenze–

MR. KINCADE

Frenzy?

HARRY

(Articulating the syllables and trilling the “r”.)

Fee-rren-zay…  To the intelligent–I assure you–but unititiated, it is known as Florence.  Capishe?  In Firenze, the birthplace of the Renaissance, I apprenticed for a month in the very city where the feet of the great masters, many centuries before, had trod.

MR. KINCADE

(Massaging his temples, sighing; sounding

exhausted.)

So… what did you… do… there?

HARRY

I apprenticed as a creator of stained glass.

MR. KINCADE

Stained glass.  I can’t believe I’m going to ask.  Why stained glass?

HARRY

Surely it’s been your observation, sir, that the art form which most mirrors the individual artist’s soul seeks out that artist–rather than the artist seeking it–to give the art its life.

MR. KINCADE

Well, well… how do you figure I missed that insight?

HARRY

(Shrugs.)

If you’d known when you were younger the world would now own a comprehensive history of an Indian Confederacy.  Who knows the impact that history might have had on the world–and on you?  What you may have only dimly perceived was a niggling awareness of the incomplete seeking divine wholeness.  I have a hunch it’s the way we’re put together, yes?  No?  Strange.  Yet, in me it was best expressed through the mosaic nature of stained glass.  As unquenchably as the yang yens for its yin; as a hunk of beefsteak draws the swelling of a shiner into itself, or a magnet tugs inexorably its opposite pole; as Fido scrambles to a bitch in heat, his nostrils aquiver; or as synchronicity connects everything else when nothing else will–as in all those instances, I found myself drawn across the sea to Firenze, right up to number 12 Galileo Point Place, where answering my rap, the Master Tamburo, himself, opened the door.  I was there, I told him, to bring fragmentation into wholeness.  He slowly nodded, with a profundity of knowing–for he knew precisely what my soul hungered for and what his genius and the spirit of the medium would yield.  Are you okay, sir?

MR. KINCADE

(Pinching the bony ridge of his nose.)

A touch of a headache.  I’ll be okay.  But, we’ve got to get through this.  So… stained glass?

HARRY

Glass of such singular beauty, Master Tamburo assured me, it would soon put me on a first name basis with the Pope himself.

MR. KINCADE

What man would not be impressed, Mr. Lowery.  And you studied there how long?

HARRY

One month.

MR. KINCADE

You stayed one month?

HARRY

I did, sir.  I would be there to this day had not Mother written that Father’s ship had docked in Cadiz.  Naturally, I was off to Spain.  You understand, of course, a son’s love for his father?

MR. KINCADE

I’m guessing your father wasn’t there.

HARRY

(Looking down a full ten seconds, then back.)

So, it was off to Japan.

MR. KINCADE

(Shaking his head slowly, bewildered.)

To follow another lead?

HARRY

To seek peace.  So, from sun up until the waning hours of the night, often with but three hours’ sleep, I swept and scraped and scrubbed the stables of the Zen Monastery near Hiraizumi until the great Master deemed me humble enough to learn.

MR. KINCADE

Quite a step down from rubbing elbows with the Pope!

HARRY

Nothing is getting past you!  You leave me no place to hide!  You tapped into my hubris…

(Snapping fingers.)

… in a trice!  It took Master Tatazuno longer.  When at last he did discover how calcified the corruption was that blanketed my essence, he expressed in his clipped, falsetto voice that I leave his serene presence and seek out my demons in the maelstrom of a metropolis, there to face them–there to defeat them.

MR. KINCADE

At last!  At last!  So, after that grand tour we end up right here in New York City.  Mr. Lowery needs to confront his demons.  But, first Mr. Lowery needs to fortify himself to fight them.  Mr. Lowery needs food and lodging.

HARRY

But, no… I have a flat, sir.  I need no lodging.

MR. KINCADE

So, Mr. Lowery needs food.  And, to pay for his food and the rent on his flat, Mr. Lowery needs a job.  Is that a fair assessment?

HARRY

A fine, balanced summary.

MR. KINCADE

And, you will need this job until, let’s see… until next spring or summer.  You’ll continue to work until then, or until your father is sighted, which, of course would draw you like a pound of beefsteak to a shiner.  Is that–never mind.  Let me just review my notes.  I took good notes.

(Leafs through the papers he had earlier stacked.)

Let’s see, what are your job skills?  Oh, here.  You might be able to trudge your way through one or two tuna runs.  Not much call, though, for that around here.  How about making stained glass windows?  Let me check my list here, but… no, I’m afraid most of the churches in the city already are outfitted with them.  I previously mentioned the lack of cowboys needed in the city, so I’m afraid that skill will have to remain unused.  Let’s see what else do we have here?  Oh, yes, it seems you clean a mean stable.  What would I find that under?  Maybe muck raking?  No, nothing there.  And–and that’s about it, isn’t it?  Wait!  But no–

(Smile of victory on his face.)

I don’t suppose you’d consider renewing your brief adventure as a prizefighter, would you?

HARRY

I am a little out of shape, sir.  But, yes, I–I can get in fighting trim… given a month’s time and the proper nourishment.  Then, there’s the license.  One needs to be licensed in New York to fight professionally.

MR. KINCADE

Which all costs money, doesn’t it, Mr. Lowery?  Money for this and money for that.  It seems it all boils down to money…  Mr. Lowery needs money.  Mr. Lowery needs a job.

HARRY

(With a jubilant display of enthusiasm.)

Oh, yes!  Yes!  I’m here to get a job.  I need you to get me a job.

MR. KINCADE

Jobs are tight, Mr. Lowery, for people with your… job skills.  That and your patchy history of what–vocational longevity?

HARRY

But, I’m willing to do anything!  And I’m determined to prove my staying power.  I’ll agree to sign a long-term contract.  And the employer can set the terms of it, in his own language.  If I default on the contract, I’ll let them do with me what they will.  They can toss me into prison.  They can stand me up against the wall, unblindfolded, and shoot me.  It won’t matter.  It won’t matter because it won’t happen.  And it won’t happen because I commit, body and soul, to staying.  I put myself, voluntarily, between the teeth of their syllogistic vice.  I shall enroll in their pension plan, their medical, their dental.  I shall attend all the company functions–the picnics, the Christmas parties.  I’ll–

MR. KINCADE

I’m sure, Mr. Lowery.  But, there’s nothing available.  There’s nothing.

HARRY

There’s got to be something.  I’ll do anything.

MR. KINCADE

Nothing.

HARRY

(Standing, in enthusiastic pantomime)

But, listen, I can buck boxes, wrestle ropes, hoist, load, unload, sweep, scrape paint, skipper, sail.  I am my father’s son, after all.  The one thing you would appreciate about my father.  He was your model for vocational longevity!  He was always on the sea–

MR. KINCADE

Yes, yes I know… somewhere.  Dock work is always slow during this season.

HARRY

Then, as a waiter…  Let me tell you of my subtler charms.  Candles lit with speed and finesse.  Oh, if there were room I would race around for you, and the candle would never extinguish.  There’s no season for my brand of excellence.  Setting and clearing tables, emptying ashtrays, lighting cigarettes, removing furs, shelving canes, hats, smiling, smiling, smiling, carting away refuse, waiting tables, ordering cocktails, suggesting and serving wines.  Seating patrons with dignity and sophistication.  No, that’s my stomach growling.  Sir, if I had a tail I swear I could wag it.

MR. KINCADE

Yes, I’m sure.  However–

HARRY

(Moaning, desperation showing.)

Ohhhh.  I’ll press my trousers; I’ll patch my jacket.  I do have another shirt.  And, what?  You’re looking at my shoes.  Why, these are only my walking shoes.  I have others, many–well, another pair, polished and waiting.

MR. KINCADE

Perhaps, perhaps something will come up next week.

(Standing.)

Come next week at the same time.

HARRY

(Sinking back to his chair–defeated.)

I see…

MR. KINCADE

I’m sorry….  Next week.

HARRY

Will next week put food on tonight’s table?

MR. KINCADE

I understand.  I’m really sorry.

HARRY

Ple–

(Swallowing the rest of the word.)

I see…

MR. KINCADE

(Sitting back down.)

I confess, it would be so much easier not to, but there is something about you I like.  I even see a little bit of you in me when I was your age.

(Lowering his voice)

I almost rode from New York to Los Angeles on my bike.

HARRY

Almost?

MR. KINCADE

It wouldn’t have been the smartest thing.

HARRY

Oh…

(There is a long, uncomfortable pause.)

MR. KINCADE

I really do wish I could help you.  May God… and the State of New York… forgive me, but I do like you, Mr. Lowery!

HARRY

Please call me Harry.

MR. KINCADE

Better to keep it at Mr. Lowery.  I wish there was something.  I truly wish I could…  Wait!  I forgot, wait!

(Pulls a file folder from the drawer, opens it,

studying.  He looks around cautiously, then

speaks in a confidential tone.)

Yes, here it is.  There is something.  There is a job, but it might be only short-term.  That would depend on you.

HARRY

(Full voice)

Then, it won’t be short-term.  You have my assurance.  Thank you, sir!

MR. KINCADE

(Still confidentially.)

Not too loudly… It’s not our regular listing.  Some rich nut does these kinds of things.  Sometimes his motivation is unclear.  What I know of him, though, he’s harmless.  He means well.  So, we’ll see.  Here’s the deal.  The pay’s a hundred dollars a day.  But there are conditions.  You look confused, Mr. Lowery.  Let me explain.  You are expected to earn a hundred dollars a day, starting from the very first day.  No grace for a learning curve.  The first day.  If you ever earn less than that, you keep the amount you earned and you do not come back the next day.  Your job is over.  If you earn more than the hundred dollars, you keep the full amount and come back the following day under the same conditions.

HARRY

That’s more than fair, sir.  What do I do?

MR. KINCADE

Beg.

HARRY

Bag?  Bag!  You say bag.  I can bag, sir.  Within a week I can be among the best–far and away the king of baggers.  My movements will be a blur before the customer’s eyes–

MR. KINCADE

Mr. Lowery–

HARRY

I will finesse a dozen eggs, or other perishables, into the bag with the care that a new mother would deposit her precious child into its cushioned crib.  I will keep the most harried and impatient customer entertained as he waits by juggling melons and apples, throwing in a bunch of carrots for good measure, and without dropping or bruising a single–

MR. KINCADE

Beg, Mr. Lowery.  Beg.

HARRY

Beg, sir?

MR. KINCADE

Yes.  The conditions are that you can offer nothing in exchange for the money you receive.  Not offer washed windows, not pencils, not juggled fruit, nor walking one’s dogs; not even reciting poetry or entertaining them with your varied and colorful personal history.  In short, you must impress on their sensibilities that you are hungry.  That you are chilled to the bone and need warm clothing.  That Mr. Lowery most desperately needs their money.

Harry

This is a joke–isn’t it a joke?  Ah, now I understand.  You are testing my gullibility, my naivete.  There are jobs, I’m sure, where one is required to have a solid grounding in reality, to instantly see when the wool is being pulled over one’s eyes.  Espionage, for example.  I would make an excellent spy, no?

MR. KINCADE

I assure you, it is not a joke.  It’s not a test.

HARRY

Well…  Well…  You can’t expect me to do that.  There must be some other–

MR. KINCADE

Not another thing, Mr. Lowery.  Just that.  I have just scraped the bottom.

HARRY

I couldn’t possibly–

MR. KINCADE

(Standing)

Then I can’t help you.

HARRY

You can’t expect one to beg.

MR. KINCADE

Then, you’ll have to try back next week.  We may have something by then.

HARRY

(Subdued.)

Next week…

MR. KINCADE

(Covertly pulling out his wallet)

I want to give you a few dollars, Mr. Lowery.  It might help tide you over ’til next week.

HARRY

Allow me to sweep your floors for it, sir.

MR. KINCADE

Our janitor does that, Mr. Lowery.  The union, you know.

HARRY

Wash your windows?

MR. KINCADE

Afraid not.  The same thing.

HARRY

Anything?

MR. KINCADE

No.

(Extending a twenty dollar bill to him.)

Please, Mr… Please, Harry.  We’ll call it a loan.

HARRY

(Smiling.)

The bard says, “Neither a borrower nor a lender be.”  That would be two sins, sir, with one act.

MR. KINCADE

If Shakespeare were divine…  Besides, he was never in New York during the winter.  Take the money, Harry.

HARRY

(Standing, shoves hands into pockets.  Still smiling.)

What time next week?

MR. KINCADE

The same.

HARRY

Good day, then, sir.

MR. KINCADE

Goodbye, Harry.

(They shake hands.  As HARRY leaves, passing

behind the gallery, MR. KINCADE follows,

stopping at the front of the gallery.

HARRY exits the “suggested” door and the sound

of the storm rushes in.  HARRY crosses the

front of the window, leaning into the wind

and snow, his hands stuffed in his pockets.  MR.

KINCADE watches this, stays a long moment

staring at the now vacant window, slowly turns and

looks at the wall behind the gallery, where the

“next” number is shown.)

MR. KINCADE

Number one-twenty-three.  Make sure you have your completed application and a picture I.D.

(Waits impatiently.)

Come on, people, we don’t have all day.

(Fade to black.)

Pssst!  You made it this far so why not pop over to the right-hand side bar and subscribe to my FREE newsletter?  Until I get other people to voluntarily rave about it, I’m gonna have to be the first one you’ll read as saying: “Jay’s newsletter’s a hoot!” and “Chock-full of writing tips, it’s information rich, while entertaining and funny!” and “You’re gonna wanna jump aboard before Jay discovers how great it truly is and starts charging a huge subscription fee!”

Advertisements
6 Comments
  1. Great imagery, Jay.,, As usual, entranced by this … cheers .. 🙂

  2. I respectfully nominate you for ‘One Lovely Blog Award’! Please pick-up your award at
    http://katrinaperkins.wordpress.com/
    Copy and Paste the Award to your blog and follow the rules of acceptance. May you continue to be blessed in all your endeavors!

  3. Great writing! Your characterizations are wonderful. thank you, Jay.

    • How kind of you to stop by and read my one-acter. It was rather long and I had few takers. I’m so happy to saw it through to the end and found it enjoyable. Please stop by any time and see what else I have cooking.

      Jay

  4. It’s an amazing post for all the web people; they will get advantage from it I am sure.

Leave a reply, a rant, or a giggle

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: