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Middle River Press, Inc. of Oakland Park, FL is presently in the production stages of publishing "Agnes Limerick, Free and Independent," and it's expected to be available for purchase this winter 2013-2014.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Paris

Jeremy rolled his eyes at the football players running down the field, carrying the French flag. What fickle hypocrisy! It’d hadn’t been that long ago, not really, since those same pasty-white “you’re either with us or ain’ us” Republicans gave freedom kisses to their girlfriends and at freedom fries at McDonald’s. But the terrorists plant some bombs in the City of Lights, and all of a sudden, France is back to being our greatest ally.

In a perfect world, France would thumb its nose at the United States. But Jeremy knew it wasn’t perfect, that France needed the American muscle (in other words, bombs and money) to fight back.

Jeremy rolled his eyes again, thinking about it that quiet evening, alone in his Shadyside apartment overlooking the Buicks and Fords and Dodges driving down Ellsworth Avenue in the rain. How he wished he were still living in Manhattan rather than in sleepy old Pittsburgh. Sure, he might be safe from the Isis attacks, but New York was worth the risk of twenty Isis attacks. Jeremy sighed and went back to his bowl of jelly beans.

He had a fondness for jelly beans, the little ones, he meant. Oh, what flavors – his favorite were the fruity ones, tangerine, cherry, lemon, lime, red hot cinnamon, peach, white coconut, watermelon, and bubble gum. Jeremy had a technique for eating them. He’d grab a handful, then pick the beans of a single flavor (let’s start with all the cherries) and work his way from darkest color to lightest color. But he always saved the bubble gums for last – his favorite.

And when he got bored with this technique – he called it the round robin – he’d just grab a small handful and put the whole thing in his mouth. The amalgam of all flavors was too scrumptious to resist – until he reached the point of no return.

He’d reached the point of no return on quite a number of occasions, that point when his stomach told him, “you’ve eaten to many of these. Another bean, and I’m just going to toss them all out at you.” He remembered that time, flying home from Kansas City, Kansas, eating a ton of jelly jeans, then having a diarrhea attack when his mother picked him up from the airport, running into an Arby’s and heading straight for the toilet.

As for Paris, he had a fondness for it, too. But nothing like jelly beans.

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