Short Story / Le Fin du monde (Analysis)

I like the story, too, and it works well in this format. You have a great deal to work with for expanding this in your closing paras. While those conclusions are okay in the short story context they can easily be expanded for a novel treatment. If I were doing it, I’d start with their most stellar crime and work backward to this instance as an example of their relative innocence. Good luck with this.    
Like the contrast betweeen the two opening settings.
“Although, all were born” Nice quote.
“never ever getting” delete ever
“bddd…bdddd….bddd..DMMMMM” the blues lick is too long.
“Every time I want to breathe” I would have thought listening to the conversations would have made it worse.
“ice melts” out of context with revolutionary.
“in some cases politely vomit in their handbags” you need to up the ante here and put this in the proper order. Assuming this is what caused people to puke, what made the shower of fish guts and scales? Certainly not the tsumami. There’s nothing causitive here or that can be implied from the text.
“One has to realize how plain everything was then” one doesn’t have to realize anything. Better to forward this as a thought than to put it on the reader.
“best sex of their night tonight” probably lives.
“invigorating on me” delete on me.
“The stand-up bass is jolted”  This is the second iteration. While the two aspects of the same scene work in the opening paras, I’m don’t think it does here.
“less than a block away,” this seems out of character and is alos prosthletizing.

Well I must say I am usually very positive when I write a review because I know the effort that goes into writing a piece, but I felt that I was searching for more in this piece and couldn’t find what was missing. I didn’t care much for the characters or the situation, thus the entire story. I think this story is filled with potential and your ability to craft a story is evident, but in the future I would advise you to look carefully at your writing and ask if this is entertaining to you. If it is then, forget everything I say and keep it moving..Keep on writing.

i enjoyed this piece, the writing reminds me of the beat writers’ mold.  I can see how this could be made into a movie, as you really develop your atmosphere throughout the piece.  i do have some criticisms of the writing though.  for one, the sentences can get a bit long and tedious, for example: “The plump one was definitely high maintenance, she was into beauty, besides the rings on every finger she flashed gold from every spot imaginable, bracelets hung from both wrists, she constantly pulled them up her arms as she stuffed her face, to avoid dropping them in her plate.” furthermore, you make mistakes with their/there/they’re throughout the piece.  also, you need  hyphens in many situations, particualrly with something that goes along after “self” or including “like” in it (i.e., chameleon-like).

There are certainly some gems in this piece, to be certain, and I can definately see how this piece can translate well to screen.  It is sparse enough to allow for imagining and filling in the imagery but with enough focus to give the piece shape--these are good things, obviously.  However, I feel like the prose is too often cluttered.  There are words that don’t need to be there in a lot of passages; these don’t illuminate the reader but make the sentences longer.  Take for example the first segment-- the point of the exposition can be made effectively, and even with your personal flourish, without needing so many adjectives.  This makes it cumbersome and obtuse. While on the subject of exposition, I must say that I noticed very much exposition, very little dialogue and a more organic unfolding of the story.  I’m sure you’ve heard the saying “show, don’t tell” when it comes to writing, and while it’s easier said than done, it is still an integral part of effective storytelling.

Overall, this is a good piece and one I enjoyed reading.  Hope this commentary helps in your revision process.

There are bunch of things I am going to mention that will help your piece be a better one, and most of them are mechanical. The content isn’t really a problem, and the story and plot were interesting, but the other parts need some real re-working. Fixing these things will help make your story and plot seem more believable, because the reader won’t be preoccupied with the grammatic errors. I know for me, incorrect grammar is a big distraction.

Firstly, you really want to consider (or should) seperating your paragraphs and indenting each time you begin a new one, or dialogue. Having it all pressed hard to the left is very hard on the eyes, especially trying to read it on a computer.
Secondly, you need to watch which form of a word you are using. A few examples… “of course, their was no point.” from right in the beginning. You obviously meant “there”, but the problem with spellchecker is that it won’t pick these words up. “Like your sitting their thinking to yourself,” you meant “you’re” and “there” again. You just need to really go through the piece on your own, and forget about the spellchecker, in order to catch these kind of errors. One good sweep through while editing should do it.
These things are minor, of course, but having the correct grammar really does make a difference in the amount of enjoyment the reader gets out of a story. At least for me anyway. Good piece.

very interesting. there were maybe one or two typos but they were just a misplaced letter or the like. nice telling of the stroy! It was interesting to see where everyting was going. but i have a quesiotn. Were they con artist Thiefs maybe? you never really explained that. on the other hand, it was fun trying to sort throuh the facts to find out what happened, good story!

This is just so incredibly amazing. The imagery and launguage is so rich! I can see everything, it’s like I’m there and I just want to re-read over and over so I can make sure I absorb every detail of it. It’s so beautiful.

The story is amazing as well. I was immediatly pulled in by the sensual opening scene and continually enamored throught. I loved the main character; he seems so very suave and self-assured. But then at the end to see him admit that he’s basically ruled by this woman is jarring in a satisfying way.

And I love the dog’s name! Just had to throw that in there. I love that they use the dog as a decoy, I think that’s so charming and cute.

I just really loved this, from begining to end. It’s beautiful and amazingly written. You are a truly gifted, talented writer.

This is interesting, did not see that twist coming, probably because it is in first person and we are inside a character’s head while he acts like he does not know what is going on.  Since later he clearly does it confuses the reader a little.  Try writing in 3rd person, or possibly write the scene in the resturant in 3rd and put in some sort of marker so that you can switch.

Formating hint, you need to indent ur paragraphs it was really hard to tell when one ended (probably just an urbis thing but should be fixed).

Try to work on word cutting, generally the more you say in as few words the more vivid the imagery.  Also try to vary the sentence types, it helps to keep the reader interested in what you are saying.

GOod luck with this piece and with any other writing you are working on.

I come into consciousness inside of her, [I would place a semi colon here, instead of a comma] awake, alert and excited we did our morning stretches. Like puzzle pieces our parts do fit, her small soft body easily encompassed by my lithe flexible [lithe is a synonym of flexible, so it is slightly redundant] grip. Her soft moans well returning my ever increasing efforts.
Oh to be her, awakened through bodily pleasure, penetrated, petted and pleasured. Like puzzle pieces we do fit.
Light chatter, gentle strokes, searching grips the soft morning comfort escalating lustfully towards conclusion.
“Hold me, grip me, engulf me,” her eyes do shine.
Obviously, this will be a wonderful day.
[This first paragraph was very well done; I great opener by any standards. Although it did lack her perspective: it made her feel like an objective entity rather than an alive, subjective entity.]
_
I come into consciousness alone. [I would have placed this evolving repetition; this exact phrase on the end of this section, for climatically effect.] What was once morning routine was [replace was with is –conflicting tense patterns] now nothing more than a dream. A memory from the outside that did nothing more than torture my first waking moments. Every day, every morning for over ten years the same scene replayed itself in my dreams, it was my only solace from reality yet rarely did I welcome its return. [I might have placed not a paragraph break but a simple line break here.] I glanced around the room, empty, immaculate and dark. The suns first rays invading my cloister, illuminating my only decoration to the modest cell. An inscription carved painstakingly over the years with nothing more than my own fingernails into the cold, lifeless rock… [separate line, centered and possible italicized] “Although, all were born into this world as unique originals, most die as mere copies.” [I personally like this line, (the soliloquy) it works very well] This inscription was my only addition to the otherwise Spartan chambers. This maxim was one of my driving forces; I had cut off all exposure to outside information and viewpoints in the last three years. [leave some of that information out –it creates an effect of talking through the responders. You can recreate this with imagery that allures the passing time and spatial significance towards the highlighted line.] Allowing myself only the stimuli of my own thoughts and some basic functions of eating and exercising, this was a self imposed punishment, a distracting mechanism and a way to make the days move faster all rolled into the one, of course, their was no point. I was never ever getting out. Ever. [grammatically incorrect (the one line sentence) but they seem to really gel in the right context. Here it could be finished off with not a full stop but … and then a line gap with an indent and that opening repetition, but with “came” and not “come”.]
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It all begins with discord. I mean a [this could, possibly, be replaced with just: “with discord (a sweet tantalizing chaos). The kind of”…] really sweet tantalizing chaos. The kind of chaos that people remember when there sixty, bouncing their little grand nieces off their knees and trying desperately to follow the monotony of their situation, but really thinking of moments like this.
The moments idyllic, [moment’s, not moments. You could also reword this, but still kepp the key term idyllic, with: “Seconds away from falling stagnant yet idyllic in this/its/the moment; you could”…] seconds away from stagnant, you can almost see the primordial ooze growing gills and approaching you, “Excuse me, sir, but could I bother you for the time, please,” [sometimes it is more aesthetically pleasing to have a line break after each perspective of dialogue –that or have the section itself to be a separate paragraph] it would request, blending inconspicuously into the crowd. I mean boring to the point of disgust. Like your sitting their thinking to yourself, what the hell am I doing in this place and why don’t I leave right now? I could have more fun reading Moby Dick and gunning a beer every time a character exclaims, “Thar she blows.” I can’t help but laugh at that one. [free it up by placing a full line break between this and the next line.]
It must be my third Le Fin de Monde, a French Canadian beer that I can only find at this particular restaurant, [leave out the context of the beer; allow the name to resonate on its own. Some will get it and others will enjoy the esoteric values behind the unknown drink. ] some soft-spoken, middle aged doctor once explained its origins to me or I’d still be in the dark about it. Apparently, the name means, the end of the world. The large 32 oz. bottle retails for $8.00, has a 9% alcohol by content rating and tastes amazing, like someone ground up all the flowers and fruits in the world artfully mixed them with your standard pissbeer taste and let the whole damn concoction ferment and fester. [the ending to this section of the paragraph sounds a little like speal. You don’t have to fill in the gaps like a car salesman, there are other ways of alluding information without telling the responder exactly what is happening. ;) ] On the bottle it tells you that the brew was actually fermented in the bottle and aged for at least one year. I mean this stuff is so good the manufacturer makes a different serving glass for each variety of beer they brew. My glass is short and wide mouthed, so the captive spirits can breathe.
Of course, I hardly knew what was going on anymore, the sun was generous, my wallet was getting nice and light, so I could comfortably sit and didn’t have that annoying uneven ass feeling going on anymore. I’m sitting here in this outdoor patio, generous sun, slightly hazy from the ale just groovin’ to some hole in the wall type Zydeco Blues band that wasn’t even playing anymore, they had stopped at least a beer ago, but their catchy bass line had stayed in my head and in my fingers, bddd…bdddd….bddd..DMMMMM… bddddd ….Dmmm..dm…bd….bdddd.d…dd..dd…Dd……, [this isn’t really needed.] my fingers tapping on the table with the phantom rhythm while my fork beats the bottle for accentuation. [as this explains it]

As I said it was a real stagnant scene, [recap not really needed: redundant and superfluous in other words.] people all over the place eating, talking to each other, waiting for the band to return, toying with their hair, the occasional couple staring into each others eyes their hands playing red light green light, as they talk.
Candles flickered at every table, a wasteful practice really, I mean it was high noon, [the shift from perspective to perspective (from the start to now) gives it a colloquial feel. If you dropped some of the more obvious overtones and started to explore a different side to of your vocabulary, as to match the vibe of the context then it can still be mesmerizing yet provincial] the sun hung dead middle in the sky [a little testing to roll when reading] like [you have already used a large sum of similes, try some metaphor: “the sun hung dead in the landscape, freshly dull from the last stroke of its original composer.” or whatever.]  it was composed by a first time landscape artist, the sky was just too blue and the sun just too yellow, it was boring. This [when constantly referencing nouns and other entities by “the”, “that”, “this”, it can grow dry and droning.] terrace could be magnificent. Rust red cobble stones with delicate weeds fight through blue grout, the view above besides the elementary arrangement of the sun, is quite inspiring, hunter green and turquoise vines covered in thousands of tiny little red and pink flower buds, dance over the trellises. [nice use of colour, try not to overdo it though –when cooking you use only the range of colours you need, otherwise it grows confusing for the taste buds.] On all sides a white washed picket fence hides the urban landscape allowing one to forget everything but the environment around you. In all fairness to the decorator maybe it is shady enough to have candles and maybe it really is magnificent but I can’t get over my fellow diners. Their self important airs, the nauseating pretentiousness leaking from every pore, I can smell it, it makes it hard to eat, [; could also correct the grammar] I try not to breathe as much so I don’t get too much of this shit in my own system. Every time I want to breathe I just listen to the snippets of conversation that drifts towards me and my need for air disintegrates.  [This ended placidly but you have to remember that when you create something you must not keep the same level of rhythm. In other words a calm ocean is nice to look at but waves are more interesting ;) Play around with line lengths and emotional thought; inter/meta monologue, parenthesis and literary tricks with word play: puns, alliteration, assonance, etc.]  
It’s easy to remember most of these parts, sitting here with random conversations polluting my ears. The urban jungle scenery is easy to describe, easy because it was normal, commonplace, and stagnant.
What happens next is exciting, different and revolutionary even. I mean, glasses break, ice melts, people choke on food, a previously unseen Boston terrier named Munch dashes through the stage knocking over a stand up bass, a concerned patron runs to catch the bass and ends up in a Koi pond, to the amazement of its previous inhabitants. I should say previous because the resulting tidal waves escort the Koi to the stage, until Munch gets them. The affair is so mesmerizing a careless waiter manages to light an old woman’s elaborate Sunday hat on fire rather than the plain white centerpiece. Munch, terrorizes the large iridescent fish on stage while people scream or in some cases politely vomit in their handbags.
Pieces of fish guts and rainbow scales shower the whole first row of the restaurant and all of this in a blink of an eye. It was beautiful, really, really, fucking beautiful.
Koi are fascinating to the eye. Most likely their beauty stems from their freedom. Of course, liberty to a fish is probably taken for granted. But who can blame a fish for enjoying some space of its own, protection from predators and a reliable source of food, fish are probably quite like humans in that regard, I imagine. Just something about Koi, languidly swimming in a pond, free, has always amazed me. The Koi are nothing more than hastily prepared sushi now, so any further romanticism would be pointless. Their just overfed, pampered goldfish anyway. In the end they served a higher purpose.
One has to realize how plain everything was then, how stagnant we’d become, how clockwork and materialistic we were as a society. Otherwise the significance of this event will go unnoticed.
The conversations around me maintained the varied speakers self important messages and generally empty thoughts. From all directions, people talking to other people about themselves and politely waiting their turn to talk about themselves again. What a wonderful scene.
[I feel that the main chunk went on too long for what you were trying to communicate. When the body of the item starts to get monotonous or predictable then it brings the entire concept. No matter how well crafted your penning is, that will only take it so far before you need another shift in scenery.]
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“Ivy, you most certainly must come and visit and see the new patio, the men installed it last week, and its surely the most elegant on the block, it was three grand more than that horror we had put in last year,” a nasally voice pierces my head, “… and was done by only the best people available, Richard, hired the same contractors who did the old Vanderbilt Estate.” The voice drifts over from a nearby table, a middle aged white woman, working on a third chin, and wearing a ring on every finger tackily informs her young, very bored looking, indescribably beautiful companion. I could tell right away she was being held hostage by this woman. [remember to break up the dialogue.]

The plump one was definitely high maintenance, she was into beauty, besides the rings on every finger she flashed gold from every spot imaginable, bracelets hung from both wrists, she constantly pulled them up her arms as she stuffed her face, to avoid dropping them in her plate. She wore her hair high and tight, pulled back to expose her pearl earrings.[grows redundant: we already get the image –you can also be far more subtle with it.] Of course, all of these adornments were as useful as tits on a bull, when you have three chins, any attention, is bad attention. Most garish of all were her toes, each delicately painted a different color. Red, green, blue, orange and brown, with little M’s stenciled on each pudgy little digit, very pretty really except for the mounds of ankle fat swallowing the thin leather of the sandals. If Munch hadn’t been satiated by his brightly colored fish toys, he probably would have mistaken her feet for two little pale pot roasts. [you have used a large amount of space and reading to describe a single entity within your narrative… this can be a good and bad thing. It can work here but you need to give the air of reading a little more allure and illusion.]
This was definitely a hostage situation, this large woman had three half eaten entrees cluttering her side of the table, and her jaw moved constantly either describing her last purchase or chewing obnoxiously on her veal parmigan. Her companion would smile politely and pick at the remains of her small salad; her boredom was evident even from my vantage point but seems to go unnoticed by her hefty sup mate. [nice bit of humor. It didn’t really do anything for me but I mustn’t be in any mood  my bad. ]
I watched her. I tried not to, but she was irresistible and the contrast between her natural beauty and the dressed up pig she was with was down right comical, forget the jewelry this Madame should dine out with uglier friends. I felt foolish to get so much satisfaction out of watching a total stranger, but I definitely had read the label of my bottle and the dessert menu enough times to need new eye candy. [this can be shortened and sweetened. Try not to explain everything to the audience and try not to simplify too much. Everyone gets the cute kitch, simple story but we remember those that work our minds and emotions.]
I already knew her name. I picked it out of the air like a feather in the wind. “Ivy,” I whispered to myself. “Ivy,” that’s definitely a lovely name, I thought.
I’m uncomfortable, so I reach for a cigarette, there’s a full pack in my briefcase but I don’t go for it. I smile, I have a better plan.
I should explain something about myself, you see. I enjoy dining alone, it adds to my anonymity. I work unusual hours, freelance, I grab meals in between appointments, rarely having time to meet others to share a meal. The nature of my work forces me to be chameleon like in appearance but allows me to afford dining out wherever and whenever I please. Tonight, I had been schmoozing a theater publicist; my appearance mimicked his, designer glasses, vintage dress shirt, corduroy slacks, unruly hair and a soul patch. Some would call it an art fag look. [the next few lines really delve back into your zone but just prior you seem to be forcing your way to that point. Don’t let yourself be explanatory, some things just gel without colloquial detail.] If my client of the hour had been a pizza shop owner and I showed up in such a get up, I would have left empty handed. I call it the illusion of association, my client’s egos seems to react well to talking to replicas of themselves. Fuck their egos, their wallets respond well to replicas of themselves. The pizza shop owner wants a t-shirt and jeans type a guy, and that’s what I give him. I prefer these types actually. The t-shirt type doesn’t pull your leg, doesn’t need to be courted, and doesn’t require a carefully prepared persona to open his wallet. Their contracts don’t usually pay as well, but their more rewarding in the end, because you’re helping a real person. It’s important in sales to whore yourself, the product doesn’t matter, your selling image, the moment you learn that, the moment you can begin exploiting it. Usually, it’s important to look successful and seem disinterested, the client has to feel as if they need you more than you need them. In general, it’s an unrewarding path, the comps are good, free meals, free drinks, complimentary theater passes, press access, VIP rooms, it’s a plastic life but it’s easy, easy and pointless.
It’s so pointless; I have to invent games, little risks and dangers to keep myself amused in everyday life.
I was about to play one of these little games, I began to get prepared. I flag the waiter; my time spent re-reading the menu about to pay off. He appears.
“One slice of turtle cheesecake, a coffee and,” beckoning towards my empty glass, “another with a fresh glass too, please.” Looking down, “might as well bring the bill too, so you don’t have to bother with me anymore.” I look away dismissively and he departs.
I usually avoid this game in restaurants I frequent often, but considering my varied hours of attendance and changes of dress I figure none of the staff would recognize me. I reach into the briefcase .Grab a large pouch, and proceed to shake a handful of tobacco onto my bread plate. I can’t help but walk into the tobacco shops when I see them. I find the atmosphere to be exhilarating, the aroma as you walk in the door, the peaceful confidence of the employees, the vault like nature of the walk in humidor just makes me feel worldly. Like a regular British gentleman you know, looking at tobaccos collected, mixed and sent from every edge of the empire.
Anyway, these bags, when seen from a distance are, unmistakably, tobacco bags. Reaching into my back pocket, I grab my hard folding business card holder, and grab two of the rolling papers hidden in back. Creasing the paper, I grab some tobacco and sprinkle it across the paper, with a few deft movements of my fingers and a lick from my tongue, the cigarette is prepared. Carefully placing the cigarette into the ashtray, I look up secretly scanning the restaurant for peeping toms. Coast clear, so I continue, grabbing another paper, I repeat my motions. [could use a little more wit and humor within the speech. You could also throw a few outside juxta positions to askew and throw off the reader, in order to make it more of the game the persona is going through.]
“Oh damn,” I exclaim aloud to all who may be listening. I purposefully drop the near made cigarette in my lap. Quickly, reaching into my left pocket pretending to collect tobacco, I sprinkle pale green buds across the paper and complete the cigarette. I place this joint down in the ashtray next to the decoy cigarette.
Of course all of this is for the sport of it. I could just as easily reached into my briefcase and grabbed the pack of Camel Lights with two pre-rolled joints as thick and long as your average smoke. It’s important to have such things ready in my business, I think they call it an icebreaker, I call it bait.
Standing up, I quickly walk through the courtyard, into the restaurant and into the bathroom. Almost immediately, I leave and begin to slip slowly towards the patio again. I look around the restaurant patio, mostly stuffed shirt types; at least one person is smoking a cigar. I can smell it in the air. In my mind, my departure forced any bored patron that may have noticed my antics to lose interest. I casually start walking towards my table, my cheesecake already awaiting my arrival. Looking a bit to the right, I can finally get a good look at Ivy. [condense]
She’s definitely gorgeous, I breathe, and she’s hard to take in all at once. She’s at least twenty one, her half empty wine glass a testament to that, but, then again nice restaurants rarely card. Her hair falls to the middle of her back, a velvety brown that flickers as brilliantly as the candle at her table. She has small ears, very cute, Elvin almost. I can’t see her face from this angle, so my eyes continue down. She looks so soft, her brightly patterned shirt, shimmers with the wind. It’s an oriental pattern, vibrant blues and blood reds making up a print of Shiva on a natural white field, quite a treat to my painters eye. Almost guiltily my eyes continue down, pleasantly surprised by the bared back, slightly tanned and taut, a small circular tattoo peeking out of her waistband, the rest of it obscured by her long flowing skirt. Distinct lines from her toned back disappear down, leaving my imagination to flesh out the rest of her. [once again, condense but keep the feeling… maybe some erotic mental foreplay? We all like a bit of foreplay ;) ]
This glance lasts only seconds. Eyes gorged, I walk swiftly by her table. With a little hop in my step and a tight chest, I settle back down into my seat. Everything is as I left it.
I continue my ritual, reaching for the cigarette, I light up and inhale, the air is quickly filled with the pungent, overwhelming aroma of Moravian Blue, after only a few drags I switch the cigarette with the joint, lighting up again. The unmistakable, sticky skunk smoke clouds the air around me. Luckily, the Moravian Blue continues to burn in the ashtray, its thick pipe tobacco smoke even more overwhelming than the weed. I continue this back and forth, cigarette, joint, cigarette, joint, cigarette, joint until both are half gone.
Slower now, slower…time passes differently now, I see everything differently now, not out of my eyes even, a little higher…like a big fat eye just opened in my forehead, a third eye like a Tibetan monk, or a handicapped fly. God, it’s exhilarating to smoke weed in a crowd of unknowing, tightlipped, sterile yuppies. I like to imagine that the whole crowd is getting the slightest of contact highs, laughing a little harder than they intended, their partners smile looking just a little more enticing, there dessert tasting that much sweeter. Some yuppie couple may have the best sex of their night [life?]tonight. The chattering around me all blends together into one constant drone, like so many bees or should I say wasps. I melt into my seat. [great little paragraph there.] Dnnh…dnnh..ddadadada…dddd…dddd…dnnh…dada…dada…dadaaa, [onomatopoeia isn’t needed if you are going to describe the sounds distinctively, from the same perspective. Sometimes it is easier on the eye to choose just one technique.]  that phantom beat returns, its deep…foot’s tapping, a smile cracks my face. I hold my glass against my face, its coolness refreshing, the condensation leaks down my cheek, I smile satisfactorily.
Shit, the waiter is approaching, I quickly grab my cigarette and relight, pretending not to notice him but watching him out of the corner of my eye.
“Is everything ok, sir,” he says, gesturing towards the uneaten cheesecake. I had almost forgotten it, munchies take a moment to set in anyway.
“Just fine,” I said, “but you know, I could use coffee, no sugar, no cream, no saucer, no spoon, just a coffee, no bother, Cool?” I ask.  [great, you are feeling more comfortable within the perspective of the persona. ]
“No problem,” he smiles, “that all?”
I nod, he leaves. Coffee is always good to counteract the dopey effects of the weed on the body, plus it seems to heighten the effects on the brain, most likely the waiter wont bother adding it to the bill either. Coffee on the house I think, it tastes better when it’s free.
I’ll have to wait for the waiter to return before I smoke the rest of the joint. I glance towards Ivy’s table, she’s still smiling, a laugh breaks from her, the effect is invigorating on me. I can’t hear it, God how I wish I could…
Damn, I can’t believe it she’s looking right at me, does she know I was watching her, does she smell the weed, a score of questions flies through my head, I look away, but I can’t help but look again, she smiles at me again, a knowing smile, but what does she know ?   [the “the” in front of words can sometimes grow dull, also the constant “he”, etc.]
The waiter returns, saving me from this uncontrollable exhilaration, “Your coffee, no bother,” he smirks. I think sometimes these people think I talk funny, I grin, he leaves.
Ivy’s attention is back on her companion, I’ll probably never know what that moment was about. God, how her eyes glowed, I didn’t even think they made eyes that color.
Then it happens. A small black dog shoots through the restaurant, he doesn’t beg for food, chew on shoes or bark even once. It’s as if he was on a mission. He heads straight for the stage stealthily unnoticed by most. The moment he leaps furiously onto the stage, all hell breaks loose. He barks and screams and howls, and dances, well it seemed as if he was dancing, he could use some practice probably and I had just smoked. The stand-up bass is jolted and begins to tip, A frantic patron runs onto the stage, trips over the hellish beast, and collides right into a small ornamental pond, the fish appear, and are massacred senselessly by the beast. Screams erupt from the crowd, waiters and men with silly hats run towards the stage, and I exit.
Walking quickly out the front of the restaurant, I hastily walk down the street leaving all the carnage behind me, I’m laughing uncontrollably, I fidget around in my pocket pull out a smoke and light a match, I use the remaining flame to torch my bill, and watch satisfactorily as it smolders to nothing.
Someone cries my name, I turn, “Vincent,” she says again. I turn and embrace her, “Rachel,” I murmur, rubbing my face into the nape of her neck. ” Rachel, you look amazing.” She smiles at me, “I know, babe, lets go,” she says.
We walk hand and hand down the mobbed sidewalks, quickly disappearing into the crowd. Faces around us all blend together, we smile at everyone and laugh and steal kisses as we hurry towards my home.
“I can’t wait to get you home, Vincent,” she says seductively. Her bright unnaturally blue eyes pierce me.
“Anything you want, babe,” I say. “Just one thing,” I ask shyly.
“Anything, you know that, babe ” she winks, licking her lips slyly.
” I want to call you, Ivy, and,” hesitantly ” I want you to keep those contacts in”
She puts her arms around me, her hand grazing my thigh, she giggles and slowly nibbles on my earlobe.
” Sounds like fun, you better cancel all the rest of your appointments and lock the doors though,” she says gently, in my ear just loud enough to tickle.
We continue our walk home, both excited beyond words, its as if we were new lovers off towards our first time together, I felt foolish, but pretending not to know her, to carefully watch her without anyone noticing, to be unable to touch her, talk to her, feel her, when she was only breathes away had been one of the most exciting events of my life until that point. And from the glow about her, the event was similar for her too.
” Excuse me, sir,” a voice comes from behind me. I whirl, ready for anything, hands moving reflexively into an offensive position.
” Whoa there, buddy, I just wanted to know if you or the pretty lady could spare a cigarette, and maybe buy one of these here flowers, I’m selling them, I’ll give you a deal,” he smiles pleadingly.
” I don’t smoke,” I say. ” Neither should you if you can’t afford them”
I throw my cigarette to the ground, smashing it with my foot, the man watches horrified by my wastefulness.
“C’mon brother,” he says, ” I’m just a little down on my luck, I’m trying to be my own man here, I don’t do drugs, I’m not going to go buy liquor or whatever you think, anything could help, maybe some change,” he says.
I look at him carefully, he clothes are disheveled but clean, his hair is neat and ordered and he has a clean shaven face, all his teeth peeked through his lips when he smiled at me. I believed him, I hated being stopped at every corner for change or cigarettes but I also felt guilty for being obnoxious to this man, and offended that there was so much poverty around me, I had just left a restaurant with a fucking Koi pond and four dollar coffees and yet less than a block away, people were forced to beg.
” I won’t give you a cigarette, sir,” I say ” There not good for you, but I will buy all your flowers, what do you want for all of them?”
His eyes light up. ” I was selling them for three dollars a piece sir, I got twenty, no twenty one left, that’s sixty bucks for all of them,” he says.
” Ivy,” I say, “Give the man a hundred ”
She reaches into her handbag smiling and pulls out a crisp hundred, she hands it to him.
“God bless you,” he stammers, pushing the bouquet into Ivy’s hands.
” No, thank you sir” she says, giving him one of her heart-melting giggles.
We walk off together again, Ivy’s hands filled with flowers of every color.
” How much did we get anyway, Ivy ?” I ask
” I didn’t count it yet, but at least four grand cash, and all these credit cards will probably work for a day or two, she only had hundreds in here,” gesturing towards the handbag around her shoulder.
” I bet you wanted to punch her in the face when she ordered the veal, huh ?” I ask.
” Yeah, I almost threw up on her, and I really wanted to flip the whole table on her when Munch came but then I might not have been able to slip away so easily” she said, anger tinting her honey voice.
I loved it when she was angry, she looked amazing and it helped when it was justified anger. Rachel was the motivation for everything we did, she started everything. Our beliefs about society, about people in general and about this bullshit American culture were totally on par with each other. There was a difference between us though, I was a drop-out, I hated the lifestyle so I refused to be a part of it, she was a zealot, a pretender an activist she felt that she could change everything, she thought she could be the example for the change she wished to see in the world. Gandhi said that first, but Rachel said it better, sexier, more powerfully, I imagined. I followed Rachel’s every suggestion, I made sure things went smoothly on the operations level and she dreamed up our performances. It started that day with robbing the wife of a successful furrier and switching her bag with one full of PETA literature, we always congratulated each other afterwards with amazing sex, I think that was part of her spell on me, I’ll never know for sure, Yeah, I loved her, but I’ll never know just how good she was at manipulation. I know what started with simple role playing games and robin hood type crimes expanded over the next two years into a level I have sworn never to betray. It was supposed to be cultural terrorism, no one was really supposed to get hurt, we were supposed to change everything non-violently but things change, I guess. When you wake up in the morning and newscasters remind you of last nights escapades, then you stop to care, your reality gets twisted, I guess the power gets you. I had Rachel, and she made every morning and night, bliss. I don’t think any man could have resisted her, I think everyone would have helped, but she dreamed to much, she needed me to protect her and I failed, She died in my arms one day, her heart still beating with mine, but then it didn’t and I beat alone.
“Ivy,” I said, ” Hurry upstairs and get ready for me, I have to go let Munch in.”
“Alright, babe, but don’t take forever with him, I’ve been waiting for you for hours now and I have needs too, ya know,” winking as only she could, She disappeared.

[good finish, not great though. The start was far stronger, in feeling and syntax then the latter. If the content was a little fine tuned, with the condensing and what not removed and tweaked then it would flow better, thus improving the effect of the same finish. In short I recommend you follow all the feedback you get then take and throw away what you like. When you are done with those applications read it to yourself; read with a pen in hand and without, read it out loud and slowly. You will start to notice all those little errors and idiosyncrasies in no time.  Hehe, next time can I review something shorter? Lol. ]

P.S. I would LOVE to see this as an Indy film. Three thumbs up “wtf… three?”