Poached eggs, mimosas, clean sheets, & the New York Times
- Doreen Peri
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Poached eggs, mimosas, clean sheets, & the New York Times
Room 983- Poached eggs, mimosas, clean sheets, & the New York Times early edition
1.
I was a night owl posed and sculpted in silver-toned metal on the middle of the hood of a 1964 Chevy, wings spread out to fly, but all I could do was coo. No hoots.
Hold your breath. I'm running on fumes from an exhaustion pipe. Morning came too soon, like madness enveloping a disappointed optimistic sunrise and I, not too wise about such things, decided to disconnect the ringer on my cell, fell head over heals for myself into the bed, beginning another day with instead of this or that until the chambermaid knocked, stating it was time to clean my room but all I wanted was a stack of sheets and white towels, two traveler bottles of shampoo, and a poached egg with asparagus on the side. Mimosas could wait until brunch.
2.
Forget the sheets," I said. "Make it a stack of pancakes instead. Hold the margarine. I don't do fake. Butter makes me happier. And can you please take my car in for a trade? I've been played like a twenty dollar bill in a parade of bets on a black jack table. All I need is a driver and a clean limousine. Thank you."
"OK," she replied through the focused eye in the middle of a metal 10" thick door. "And what more can I do for you?"
"Nothing," I said. "I'm done for the mourning night. Just make sure the Do Not Disturb sign is politely displayed on my brow. And dear, don't forget the orange juice. Fresh squeezed, please, clear like an empty mind pond, orange as dawn, no pulp on, not even one very demanding piece. Please."
"OK," she said, sneaking me the New York Times early edition beneath the threshold.
But I, cold, shaking blood-thrust tornado gusts, slipped back into bed, pulled the double-sheeted coverlets loose upon my head, with plans to dream of cream cheese frappes.
Oh how I dread the tap tap tap of the pancake delivery. My stomach cannot possibly be ready. I hope she makes a mistake and takes the cream for coffee from room number 983 and brings it to me instead.
.
.
dp.11.12.2011
1.
I was a night owl posed and sculpted in silver-toned metal on the middle of the hood of a 1964 Chevy, wings spread out to fly, but all I could do was coo. No hoots.
Hold your breath. I'm running on fumes from an exhaustion pipe. Morning came too soon, like madness enveloping a disappointed optimistic sunrise and I, not too wise about such things, decided to disconnect the ringer on my cell, fell head over heals for myself into the bed, beginning another day with instead of this or that until the chambermaid knocked, stating it was time to clean my room but all I wanted was a stack of sheets and white towels, two traveler bottles of shampoo, and a poached egg with asparagus on the side. Mimosas could wait until brunch.
2.
Forget the sheets," I said. "Make it a stack of pancakes instead. Hold the margarine. I don't do fake. Butter makes me happier. And can you please take my car in for a trade? I've been played like a twenty dollar bill in a parade of bets on a black jack table. All I need is a driver and a clean limousine. Thank you."
"OK," she replied through the focused eye in the middle of a metal 10" thick door. "And what more can I do for you?"
"Nothing," I said. "I'm done for the mourning night. Just make sure the Do Not Disturb sign is politely displayed on my brow. And dear, don't forget the orange juice. Fresh squeezed, please, clear like an empty mind pond, orange as dawn, no pulp on, not even one very demanding piece. Please."
"OK," she said, sneaking me the New York Times early edition beneath the threshold.
But I, cold, shaking blood-thrust tornado gusts, slipped back into bed, pulled the double-sheeted coverlets loose upon my head, with plans to dream of cream cheese frappes.
Oh how I dread the tap tap tap of the pancake delivery. My stomach cannot possibly be ready. I hope she makes a mistake and takes the cream for coffee from room number 983 and brings it to me instead.
.
.
dp.11.12.2011
Re: Poached eggs, mimosas, clean sheets, & the New York Time
I hope she makes a mistake and takes the cream for coffee from room number 983 and brings it to me instead.
Not trying to critique it, I read three times and I thought I got it all but that last line makes me wonder if I missed something.
I wish I had wrote it Doreen. a pleasure to read, thanks
- Doreen Peri
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Re: Poached eggs, mimosas, clean sheets, & the New York Time
Jack... you didn't miss anything. The narrator of the fictitious story is just saying that he/she prefers real instead of fake, like the real butter instead of margarine in a previous line. .... Real cream instead of fake... Just a wordplay story with internal rhyme, poetic prose, meaningless most certainly, like my life, probably. shrug... a mind trip into a hotel room all alone never went. Nobody's got room service here.
Thanks for reading! hope you're doing well!
Thanks for reading! hope you're doing well!
- stilltrucking
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- Joined: October 24th, 2004, 12:29 pm
- Location: Oz or somepLace like Kansas
Re: Poached eggs, mimosas, clean sheets, & the New York Time
I could use a weekend in room 983
I got confused as to what room it was going to go to the "instead of 983"
it was good stuff for me to read, doing better now you cheered me up
I got confused as to what room it was going to go to the "instead of 983"
it was good stuff for me to read, doing better now you cheered me up
- Doreen Peri
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Re: Poached eggs, mimosas, clean sheets, & the New York Time
The narrator didn't order cream for coffee... s/he asked for pancakes and a limo ride and clean sheets and towels and shampoo but not cream for the coffee.. so the narrator was going to sleep saying that s/he forgot to order the cream for the coffee andd was hoping that the room service person made a mistake in the morning and delivered cream to his/her room which was meant for another room (pick any number.. I just made one up)....I hope she makes a mistake and takes the cream for coffee from room number 983 and brings it to me instead.
Maybe I need to rewrite this.. LOL
heh.. thanks for reading, jack!

- stilltrucking
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- Joined: October 24th, 2004, 12:29 pm
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Re: Poached eggs, mimosas, clean sheets, & the New York Time
I am pretty sure if was perfect as you wrote it, but I know you know it was
just goes to show me how tired I am tonight that I missed that, funny how I seem so right when I write at the tailpipe of exhaustion, but at the same extremity I don't read so good
I enjoyed it nevertheless
it did cheer me up

just goes to show me how tired I am tonight that I missed that, funny how I seem so right when I write at the tailpipe of exhaustion, but at the same extremity I don't read so good

I enjoyed it nevertheless
it did cheer me up

- Doreen Peri
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- Joined: July 10th, 2004, 3:30 pm
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Re: Poached eggs, mimosas, clean sheets, & the New York Time
No, you offered great feedback! I'm going to edit it to make it clearer. Thank you very much! 
BTW, just poetic prose fiction written on another site spontaneously which I felt worth saving.... I need feedback like this!

BTW, just poetic prose fiction written on another site spontaneously which I felt worth saving.... I need feedback like this!
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