I am old enough to be your grandfather, don’t notice it, but others do, but young people give up their seat on the subway and I get help crossing the street.

“Hold it, Mister. IT’S RED!”

“Say what?”

“It’s red!!!!!!”

I like the attention; guess it’s what being pretty is like.

Today, I’m sitting on the park bench near the high school. I look up from my paper; here comes the cheerleader and her man.

Ooh. Short skirt.

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I spent the summer working on a Mr. Bean's ice cream truck and when I was through, he paid me with a rain check.

"Sorry," said Mr. Potter of First National City, "we cash only papers checks here."

I had a similar problem at each bank, and check casher, I called on.

"Too wet to cash," they told me. Dispirited, I sat on the curb, had a takeout cheeseburger, fries and a diet cola.

I was famished; the food was delicious.

Didn't notice ...

One day worse came to worse. He figured they had a lot in common, and after a period of getting to know each other, they'd live happily ever after. And for a while they did.

But an unintended consequence arose Each brought out the best in each other, and whatever they once saw in each other was gone They fought regularly; they gave each other no peace.

"You are!"

Over time, they returned to their old worse, and worser, selves But that's not what encouraged them to give it ...

One thing you could count on, same as death, taxes, win some, lose some, was Frankie Diperino was one mean dude. Shoot you for looking at him wrong. When he turned nice, there had to be an explanation. "Diperino," said the doctors, " You're dying. Got a month at most."

Humpty and Dumpty lied; did so, hoping the news would calm him.

When Diperino caught on it was ready, aim and fire. Bullet met target, bodies fell, things looked grim.

You can guess the rest.
None of their doctors, and ...

An ice cream truck approached Yankee Stadium. It was the bottom of the ninth, two outs, full count, Yanks down by one.

The truck sounded the same few notes while not ten feet away, a purse snatcher plied his trade on the oldest-looking, whitest-haired, most wrinkled, bony-fingered, four-eyed woman, wearing the largest pink-framed sunglasses I ever saw.

I wondered if I should call 911 or walk away when her knee, aimed like her life depended on it, met the space below his baseball bat.

Her problem solved.

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One Halloween, the devil, disguised as an old man, came to earth and saw a car and a boy about to collide.

That kid was about to become history.

Having saved the child’s life, the devil asked for candy in return.

     “For needy children,” he said.

The boy refused.

Soon he was a dead kid in a tiny pine box.  

“Another chance?” he asked.

Next day, he and a car were about to meet.    

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How it came about is, without much schooling but plenty of brawn, I became a bounty hunter. I started on the more minor cases; the car thieves, the burglars, used them to gain experience in the ways of the criminal mind.

John Peters of the Acme Bail Bond Company was the boss. Eventually, I became his right-hand man. It was then he gave me two dogs, bloodhounds, he said.

“Good for tracking.”

The crazy thing about those dogs, they talked in their sleep. At first, I listened, but before ...

I was in Manhattan visiting a friend and what I saw there was crazy. Just crazy.

There were typewriters, damaged as if thrown from windows; keys bent like arthritic fingers, chewed-on pencils, sans erasers. There were empty coffee cups, spineless thesauruses, and broken whisky bottles.

There were crumpled papers, some blank, some not, piled so high if the wind shifted, I’d have been buried in a pile of frustration. Only living thing on the street was a one-eyed, limping, German Sheppard.

Jimmy’s home was nearby.
A drab apartment in a ...

This is the city Hollywood, California. I’m a cop assigned to the cold case of Mary’s little lamb. Most people know Mary through the version her public relations people put out. The lamb followed Mary to school; it was against the rules, the teacher put it out, end of story. Mary spent the rest of the day in class.

Could be.

Everyone agrees Mary had a little lamb. The operative word is had.
Her lawyers blame the teacher for its disappearance.

“Back off, copper,” one said, “you’re barking up the ...

Stanley is a copycat or a copy of a copycat.

If I arch my back, he arches his. If I wave my tail, he waves his. He’s an idiot, but we're close as close could be.

Last week, I was adopted and I wanted Stanley to join me. I searched every alley and garbage can we’d been in. Backyards, too.

“Stanley, I’m moving.”
“1032 Overhill Street.”
“Where are you, Stanley?”
“Why would you leave me now?”
When I found him, I learned one thing for sure.

Unless you don’t mind ...