Sketch: Volume 49, Issue 1
"Unmolding will be simple," the salesman had promised. Now the dining room holds an impatient jury as her trial in the kitchen begins, Wiping her hands on a useless lace apron, her face is covered with whipped cream and despair. Her husband's voice offers comfort through the door. In desperation she decides to try warm water. It worked on the ice cube trays. In the sink, the green fish comes to life. Her husband enters the kitchen just in time to see the unjelled fish go flopping down the drain...
Grand Central Station 5:10 I blend myself into the train which sits in the slip waiting to fill with faceless angels and threats colored post 50's win well-aged wafts into the seat beside me...
The car bumpered hard off the high curb in front of Sue's Powder Puff. I shoved the gear into park without even bothering to break, and this caused my mother to lurch forward in the seat beside me. Her patent leather purse (it was the white one now which meant spring was here) tumbled to the floor. She glanced at me nervously and let out a tense little sigh. I knew she was afraid to speak and I liked the edge of power I had...