Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Timed Writing: 5/30/2012
Time: 10 minutes
Prompt: "... high-booted and bearing a lantern..."
Source: 5 x 2 x 2 + 6 x 3 + 3 = A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
I told Ewan to dress appropriately -- that it would be raining and that his usual canvas sneakers and cotton socks might get uncomfortable after a few hours. So he showed up in hip-waders. Friggin' hip-waders! To spend a day scavenging all over Seattle. I wondered where he'd gotten them, but not enough to ask. He surely hadn't needed them when he lived in Arizona, and I hadn't heard word of him taking up fly-fishing since moving back home.
He was also wearing an external-fram backpack -- a big one -- and he carried an electric lantern. It had three rubber-footed fold-out legs so it could be set up on any sort of hard surface and stand a foot off the ground. Not tall enough to be safe if Ewan found waters to justify his boots.
"You understand what 'urban' means, don't you?" I said. "As in, 'urban scavenger hunt'? As in we're not going wading through any rivers?"
He just grinned and slapped his rubber-clad thighs. "Great, aren't they," he said. "Guess how much I paid for them. Go on -- guess."
"Too much, I'm sure."
"Shit, Karly. These things are awesome. Look, they've got fully integrated Vibram hiking soles." He turned around and lifted a foot for my inspection. "They're used, so last night I tested them out in the bathtub. No leaks."
"Your bathtub is three feet deep?" I said. "Wasn't that kind of a big waste of water? Or did you bathe in it afterward?"
"You're jealous. You in your pretty, pink Tevas."
"They're Chacos," I said.
"Whatever. Just wait till we're down in some sewer somewhere. Then what? I'm not gonna carry you. You'll be in -- wait for it -- deep shit. Ha!"
"Funny, Ewan. Hilarious. If sludge is on the list, I'll just have to let you take all the glory for collecting it." He kept grinning and shifted the pack on his shoulders. "What's in the two-month survival kit?" I said.
"All the stuff that you haven't thought to pack," he said. "I'd make you guess what's in here, but you'd never get it, so I'll just tell you."
"No, wait," I said. "You got the scavenger list early and we're done, right?"
"Second thought," he said, "I'm not gonna tell you till you're stuck in some jam wishing you'd planned ahead. And then, poof, there I'll be, holding just the thing you want. Then you'll be grateful -- when I rescue you."
"It's a scavenger hunt, Ewan, not an African safari." A disturbing thought occurred to me. "If you've got illegal -- or even marginally legal -- weapons in there, I don't want to know about them."
(about my timed writing exercises)
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