▐ j Can you write a little story that includes these phrases?

Question:1. That girl is somebody's hero.
2. You better listen to me, squirt!
3. Heart ache and coffee at midnight cafes.
4. Oooooohhh .. I ain't finished yet.
5. Is this where we let go and give up the fight
6. There ain't nothin that love can't fix.

BONUS PHRASE: You look mighty good.... in love.

Answers:
These phrases often dictate the type of story required.I find that interesting...and I like what I see in my head here...

Life cycle

It is the year 2007 and the relationship between a father and his children is defined in a completely different light than it ever used to be before. It is ever more common to see the father strolling in the park, his children in tow, his wife at work or nonexsitent. And now, here I am. Taylor Park in the foreground. We enter stage right.
"Daddy?" My five year old son looks up at me. The world has not yet knocked the wonder and awe completely from his eyes. I envy him.
"Yes, son?"
"What are those dogs doing?"
I look over where his gaze has drifted. At the edge of the park sits a honeysuckle hedge. In front of the hedge sits two dogs. With the complete lack of inhibition that only animals can possess, these dogs are trying to bolster the future population of four legged friends everywhere. I bite the inside of my cheek.
"They are playing, son. Dogs like to wrestle. Let's go get ice cream and see your mother."
Ahhhh Taylor Park. Just two blocks from our home, this park contained a diohrama of life from all different walks on any given day. The only problem was, you couldn't control which part of life was featured at any given time....
Flash to five years later..
My son, now 10 years old, and I. Taylor Park in the forefront, we enter stage right.
"You better listen to me, squirt," I said tenderly. "Just because your mother and I are getting a divorce, doesn't mean we don't love you. You are our everything."
"I just don't understand it, dad. Why can't we be a family anymore?" The tears still stood stark on his cheeks. My heart broke for him and him only.
"You know how difficult it is to be around mommy and me when we fight. We want to make a happier home for you. So this is where we let go and give up the fight. In the end, we think it's the right thing."
"But Dad, you always say there ain't nothing that love can't fix."
"And the love that your mommy and I have for you will fix your pain. I promise you son. It's a lot for you to understand, but one day I hope you will. Come on. Let's get an ice cream and then go catch a movie."
And Taylor park surrounded us with it's silent embrace.
Fast forward six years. My son, now sixteen, and I. Taylor Park in the foreground. We enter stage right.
"Listen, son. I know being seen with your father isn't going to win you any brownie points with your friends, but I want you to know how important this is to me. I know you like her, but more than that I want you to respect her. That girl is somebody's hero. Likely her father's. And when you two go to the dance tonight, I want you to keep that thought in the front of your mind."
"Relax, dad. I'm not overanxious to be a father yet. I'll be careful."
"You don't understand. I'm not just talking about being a father. I'm talking about being in a relationship. If you really like her, and want to respect her, don't just be careful. Do the right thing for both of you."
My son looks at me and purses his lips. "I think I understand what you're saying dad. And I DO like her. Alot."
"You look mighty good...in love. Just always think of what it is you like about her. Do you wanna get an ice cream with your old man before you have to go?"
"Sure dad. And thanks."
And Taylor Park seemed to swell, matching the emotions that I myself felt at that moment.
This time years go by. The only constants are me, Taylor Park, heartache, and coffee at midnight cafes. My son visits, my grandchildren visit. For the most part I am happy. Taylor park changes very little. The honeysuckle never dies, the maple trees dotting the horizon only grow larger. But I wilt.
Fast forward thirty years this time. My son, now 46 and myself, now 78. Taylor Park in the foreground. We enter stage right.
"And we find ourselves here, Dad. In good old Taylor Park. God I've missed it. Like I'll one day miss you." And like no time at all had passed, the tears were there on his cheeks again.
"Oooooohhh.I ain't finished yet, son. The cancer will win when I let it."
And he gripped me. A hug that you live a life time for. No words could do that moment justice as with no awkwardness at all, I embraced my son, and he embraced me. There ain't nothing that love cant fix. Nothing.
"Come on, dad. I'd like to buy YOU an ice cream once."
"I'd be honored."

And like a veteran campaigner, Tailor Park looked on.
That girl is somebody's hero.
2. You better listen to me, squirt!
3. Heart ache and coffee at midnight cafes.
4. Oooooohhh .. I ain't finished yet.
5. Is this where we let go and give up the fight
6. There ain't nothin that love can't fix.

BONUS PHRASE: You look mighty good.... in love

The two old men watched from their park bench as she stalked by.

"That girl is somebody's hero," one said as he leaned on his cane watching to see where she was headed.

"There ain't nothin' that love can't fix," chuckled the other.

She parked herself right in front of me. I looked up and knew right away I was in trouble.

"You better listen to me, squirt!" Her arms were crossed, her maryjanes were beating a rapid tatto on the ground. She even had that look on her face, the one which burned stronger that the sun.

"Oh dear," I muttered. If I had been a wise man, I wouldn't have said a word. I never claimed I was wise though...which is why I kept getting into trouble I suppose.

"I heard about your activities the past few weeks. Moaning about heartache...I suppose heartache and coffee at midnight cafes helps you think does it?" Her words cut off in time with her maryjanes.

"Awww darling," I started to say. Told you I wasn't wise.

"Oooooooohhh.I ain't finished yet." She wasn't either, she went on for a good fifteen minutes. Or maybe it was a lifetime, I dunno, I'm not a wise man. But I did manage to keep my trap shut this time.

Of course, I hadda ruin it when she stopped finally to take a breath.

"Is this where we let go and give up the fight?" I asked with all the innocence in the world. I mean, I even used my best puppy dog eyes looking up at her.

Her answer, as far as I know, was long and loud. I'm not a wise man, so eventually I kind of lost my attention span. It's really the fault of two old men, way over there, on that park bench. I just wondered why they were laughing so darn hard. Not being a wise man, I just couldn't figure it out.

Eventually, right in the middle of her lecture, the two old fellas shuffled on by us. One of them, leaning heavily on his well worn cane, winked at me, then caught her eye.

He grinned broadly at her. "You look mighty good...in love."

They were very wise men. Somehow, with just a smile and a short little phrase, he had stopped her tirade. As they meandered down the path, she just stood there, staring, mouth open. The silence was almost deafening. I almost remarked upon it..but decided I would be a wise man for a change.
Can you write a little story that includes these phrases?

1. That girl is somebody's hero.
2. You better listen to me, squirt!
3. Heart ache and coffee at midnight cafes.
4. Oooooohhh .. I ain't finished yet.
5. Is this where we let go and give up the fight
6. There ain't nothin that love can't fix.

BONUS PHRASE: You look mighty good.... in love.

The waitress started out as just a piece to add detail, and then the whole thing revolved around her. Yahoo! won't allow my formatting.
______________________________...



That girl is somebody’s hero. Or was. The day has grown weary, the sun has gasped it’s last and sunk beneath the horizon, its last rays drowned by smog suffocated by fluorescent light that makes everything it touches, cheap.

Slumped on a patched stool at the end of the counter, the waitress sits with her elbows on the counter, her hands wrapped around her head. Her fingers are shot through her hair like she’s trying to squeeze something out, or corner an old memory. Her rolled cigarette lays forgotten, blackening the counter as it burns itself out. A soap opera drones from the ancient TV set above the heat lamps, blue and green lines track through the picture; it won’t last much longer.
‘You look mighty good…….. in love.’
The waitress started.
She looked at the flickering screen, anger and blood rising to mar her face.
Fools.
Her eyes drift from the set and linger on the coffee maker, its dim orange light wanes, and goes dark. Life isn’t one liners and snappy hairdos, it’s burnt coffee and week old classifieds.

“There ain’t nothing that love can’t fix.” Leroy had said early that morning, and again at lunch. He never came for supper at the diner, at breakfast his eyes told the story of his nights. Eyes can’t lie. She thought to tell him that the bottle can’t fix anything, and that love won’t help him if he eats anymore of that sausage, but orders were up, and it passed.
In a window booth two brothers scuffled. The younger boy was trying to make a catapult out of salt shakers and dented silverware. His older brother was trying to reign him in.
‘You better listen to me, squirt!’ He was saying when she brought their order. They came four days a week, and she always made the cook give them a few extra pancakes. She wondered where their family was, or if they had one.
“Oooooohhh…… I ain’t finished yet.” Chortled Leroy when she tried to take his plate, two of the eight sausages were left.

The Star Spangled Banner blared from the flickering TV set now, the soap ending on some other wholly unforeseen development. It had begun to rain outside. The city needed a good cleansing rain. It would probably fall short instead, and wrap the city in a pall of smelly, heavy air and dirty footsteps that would have to be mopped up.
Pictures of eagles and moonscapes filled the TV now, the green and blue tracks twisting the image into something ghastly, something broken. She realized it was far past closing, and prepared to busy her self with closing. Even a moment of purpose was worth something, when sound fades and lights glare, and we dare not gaze beyond the moment of our hand’s toil. She turned and watched the drab interior of the diner wander through her vision. Is this where we let go and give up the fight? Hope smothered in stale coffee, wishes drowned in tough pancakes and greasy sausage. Heart ache and coffee at midnight cafes.
She laughed. Well, maybe not coffee.
Behind her a soft knock on the glass door.
She turned.
LeRoy stood under the battered red canopy, the collar of his tan tweed jacket fighting the drizzle.
She opened the door and held it.
“It’s late, Roy.”
“I know Emma,” Leroy managed, taking off his hat. “I just, I heard you laugh… and thought.” His eyes flitted from her’s to the ground and back.
“I.. I’ll go. I’m sorry.” He started to turn away.
She stepped out and touched his shoulder. “Come in, I’ll make you some.. tea.”
Leroy and Emma drank tea and talked of pleasant hopes, and good things to come until the first rays of sun pierced the shrouded city.
“It’s a new day.” Said Leroy.
“Yes,” Emma smiled. “It is.”

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