New short story - Resplendent Bagginess

Sure is quiet in the land of blogs.  I know on my end it is because I've spent too many weeks away from the computer, not keeping up with my end of things.  I'll be working back up to it as time allows.

Here's the first part of a new story.  I used the word association method I mentioned in Blossom Archer to write it.

 A brown Silverado, dented but not rusted, pulls into the parking lot of Safeway.   It's an early morning, and cold too; the short dirty skirt of mudcicles on the running boards won't be coming off any time soon.   

The Silverado arcs to the spot farthest from the Safeway entrance, rocks once, and three baggy piles of hand-me-downs rustle out.   They each lose and then find their footing on the dirty ice and begin a trek of ordered chaos:  The largest, a brown duffel-bag finds it easiest, and stretches out in front of the other two.  The second, a rumpled backpack, struggles but makes his boots work like blocky skates somehow.   The third, the smallest - not much more than a satchel of funny-looks from head to toe falls and falls again.  By the time satchel meets duffel and backpack he has become the dingiest, and everyone is huffing steam from various indignities.

The whole experience of a grocery store sends the bags into another cacophonic symphony:   They split off as soon as the doors slide open to the ocean of warm smells within.  Backpack cruises down the bread aisle to the bakery.  His head reels from the fresh scents of baking and frosting.  Duffel sets out for the pharmacy, inhaling the medicine and bandage aisle as the chemistry and coats wait for him ahead.   Satchel slinks off toward the toys.  It's a small nook next to magazines and cheap books. 

Satchel looks at the toys for a long, long time.   He runs his mind over the textures without touching or opening anything.    He shifts from foot to foot, knocking off caked dirt around them in boot outlines.  he wipes his runny nose with the back of his ratty leather glove and stares at the G.I. Joes.   The leather smell increases as he takes the gloves off and stuffs them in too-small pockets.   Sense-memories of grand dreams float through Satchel's mind, and his eyes glaze.  They are clear amber eyes, and he reaches out with fine piano-player hands to the Joe with the most gear.  This one is head-to-toe a ninja, sporting enough bandoleers, pouches, and extra weapons to be functionally immobile.


...To be continued in Part 2 (I'll post part 2 on Friday the 3rd)

Editor's note:  Whoops, sometimes I'm an idiot:

And that's why I blog before I submit now!