The Bee Flats. They'd come up with the name in Paul's dingy basement flat, which always smelled dank and foisty no matter how many Glade Plug-ins Paul threw at it. Jacko always felt a little ill the day after he'd spent time at Paul's, the damp air permeating his already overworked alveoli. The copious amount of weed they smoked obviously didn't help matters. They were proud of the name as it combined their shared interes...

“Excuse me. Is the bar still open?” I look up from cleaning to see an older male with an overly patched burlap messenger bag that has seen better days. I motion for the man to sit down at a table that doesn’t have its chairs upturned. “The bar is closed for the night, but I can get you something. What would you like?” I asked. “A dirty martini,” he replied. “Extra gritty, double olives?” “It’s the only way I roll.” As I m...

Four hundred and twenty potatoes. A client asked me to take a picture of that on my Exacta 66 camera. I contemplated as I sipped my dirty martini. I do get a lot of absurd requests, but this takes the cake. Speaking of cake, let’s get baked. I forgot what I was going to say now. Whatever, just saying...  

Sipping dirty martinisWatching girls in bikinisAnd strumming on my Les PaulAlbert King ambles throughRiffs ‘I’ll Play the Blues for You’Man, I really got it allCHORUSIt’s a dream vacationNo place I’d rather beYeah, a dream vacationNot sure where I’m atBut it suits meChecking out picsFrom my Exakta 66Can’t believe what I seeDon’t remember all thoseSometimes, that’s how it goesA penguin, potato and a beeCHORUSIt’s a dream v...

As his band stepped onto the stage, Tyrone stole a moment to sip his dirty martini. He ran his tongue along his upper lip as he admired the glass, savoring the lingering taste of the alcohol. With a contented sigh, he got up and walked onto the stage. During his break, the din of the bar had swelled to a jumbled murmur. The restless audience had taken to chattering over clinking glasses filled with liquor to lighten moods...

Four twenty, Sunday afternoon Baking heat, it’s late in June Abandoned in sad clouds of dust Left by departing Greyhound bus   Besieging desolation follows me This ghost town place of memories I’d broke off young, just seventeen For things I saw in magazines   Now here I am, back on Nowhere Boulevard   In beaten boots and ragged jeans, Empty pockets and black Ramones tee A once pretty girl comes up to me Her battered heel...

A penguin walks into a local little dive bar. The neon sign in the window didn't just flash “open” like most. She blinked as it flashed "Dirty Martini served here.” It was 4:20pm when she climbed up on the empty barstool and placed her most prized possession, a battered guitar case that held a Gibson Les Paul guitar, on the stool beside her. She had inherited the guitar from an unknown source. It came in the mail with a n...

I lit the J between my lips and sucked its smoke deep into my fifty-year-old lungs. I held my breath and let it coat me inside. I sucked in more air to expand them further; to expose more tissue to the smoke. The deep recesses expand and then extract what they can before I blow the cleansed smoke out my nose. I never let my weed simply leave my mouth. No sense letting good shit escape into the air. I didn’t know the chick...

His little black bookA mystery to mostOne could take a lookBut never figure out the host To understand his madness His scribblings and suchYou had to explore the brightnessHis mind often touched The entries were enigmasA code so well keptLike entry number 420 said,“@6pm Gibson Les Paul guitar” To the naked eyeIt didn’t mean muchHe was clever but shyWhich was always my hunch Always willing to give a lessonBut that was cert...

A strange thing happened the other day. I'm not sure whether the time had anything to do with it because it was only four-twenty in the afternoon and the rush hour hadn't yet got under way. Anyway, as I unwrapped my Penguin bar I saw a man sitting on the pavement outside a record shop. I remember distinctly the neon 'open' sign in the window above him flashing erratically on and off in the fading light. As I approached I...

Remember when we headlined at Alleycats, 420 East Street? Remember the heat, the buzz, the whole place packed to the rafters and reeking of liquor and cigarette smoke? Do you recall the spotlights cutting through the haze and the bone-shaking throb of the bass? Good times. The best. Our one chance to shine. Living on potato chips, cocktails, and laughter, we warbled passion to a lazy blues beat and the soulful crooning of...

  Black Birds Cold night air pinched at the darkness. Frost painted featherlike patterns on the windscreens of the parked cars along the street. Grass huddled together beneath their icing sugar coating. A neon light at the corner of the street failed to notify anyone of the great deals Joe’s Café had to offer, the street had been plunged into darkness. The power outages were getting worse, and the outlook reported was ble...

The glow of the neon sign lit her face as she walked into the bar with a Gibson Les Paul guitar strapped across her back and carrying an urn in her hands. She set the urn in an empty stool and sat next to it, hanging the guitar on the back of hers. “Two dirty martinis please!” she called out. The bartender mixed the drinks and placed them both in front of her. She slid one over to the urn and sipped her drink, wincing as...

Dirty Martini 420 Competition • No entry fee• All entries must be new, original work• One entry per person• Limit 420 words• Category must be Micro Fiction, Flash Fiction, Poetry or Songs• Tags must include the word 'whatever'• Submission must include the number 420 in some form (time, date, distance, weight, temperature, length, or whatever) AND one item from EACH of the following lists:1. Exakta 66 camera, Gibson Les Pa...

I pulled the last olive off the swizzle stick with my teeth and ate it before finishing off my drink. Looking up at the clock it, showed 4:20. It was in the AM, not the afternoon. It had been a long day. “I couldn't even begin to count the number of people at the wake,” I thought. Flipping on the TV, I found there wasn't much at this time in the morning, just talking heads, Infomercials, a rebroadcast of a Flyers vs Pengu...