Micro-fiction exercise for 6/16/11
The rudder rush was like a quivering spasm of an ADD kid. The boat crashed right into the Bangkok style house of 51st Street and Wagner Blvd, up on the hill that still saw the ravages of the flood. The televangelist lived in that home, and still hung out nearby for he yelled up a verbal storm at the yellow slickered bad navigator who banged his little Boston Wailer right up against his well concealed aluminum siding. Slam wobble crank creak is what gave its material away. The televangelist was up, huddled in his sons old tree fort, feeding turkey jerky to his 3 cats, all wet and hissy. The boater apologized and the televangelist cussed him out as being one of the damned. The boater traveled onwards, away from the partially engulfed hump to find people to save.
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