russelltwyce
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The time was more than 20 years ago and Russell is on a worldwide search for stories: but on Sunday at noon, the sky in Copenhagen has the color and sheen of a silver Porsche. That’s a luxurious look on a sports car glistening in the sunshine but in the clouds of autumn in Denmark, it meant a chilling drizzle that feels no better in fiction, than it did in truth.
‘How to make the world better?’ Russell voiced his mission in a mental monolog. ‘I just want to make my world better today.’ The task was daunting: nightclubs were all closed for the day, and perhaps for the whole evening as well. He didn’t know if they would be open at all on the Sabbath. Instead of writing, his pencil sketched a female figure in his notebook. ‘I wonder what I’m thinking of today?’ He needlessly asked his poorly done nude drawing.
“Why don’t you take a city tour?” The hotel’s desk clerk suggested.
“Can you suggest a good one?” Russell inquired out of politeness. ‘The truth is, he’s likely got one that gives him a commission on referrals’.
“What else are you going to do on such a miserable day?”
“You’ve got a point there.” The reporter on a search for stories took the proffered brochure.
“Sign me up.” He instantly regretted his moment’s spur decision. ‘I’ll hate it. I’m not a guided sightseeing trip enjoying guy.’ But it was too late: the desk clerk was already on the phone and booking it. Thirty-two minutes later, he was on a bus.
“Hans Christian Anderson kept his hands busy right here,” the tour guide spoke into a microphone that amplified his obnoxious voice so loud that even a person hiding in the rear toilet compartment couldn’t escape, “and-in-some unchristian ways too.”
‘Don’t give up your day job for a career in comedy.’ The unappreciative bus tourist remarked internally. The guide was fluent in at least four languages and utterly inept at humor in all of them. ‘On second thought, feel free to give up this occupation. You won’t be any worse at a stand-up routine but there, the audience wouldn’t have to leap from a moving vehicles to walk out on the performance.’
“We’ll stop here and walk to where we can watch the changing of the palace guard.” A short while later the tour host explained, as the bus stopped on the street.
‘Unless the royal guards changing involves them stripping from military gear to the white underwear and then donning matching pajamas,’ he mentally scoffed, ‘that’s of no help to my truth or fiction search for stories on how to make the world better.’
‘And then I spied her!’ Russell recalled that instant with clarity, as if a grand cosmic camera had snapped an indelible photo into his memory.
Read more of 'My name is Ivanka' - How to make the world better - <--- Click just back there
P.S. This fiction is largely truth: perhaps you've noticed the lead character has my name. Hers however, was not Ivanka and other than that, I'm not saying which parts are truth or fiction. I will say that during the time I knew her, my world was better.
‘How to make the world better?’ Russell voiced his mission in a mental monolog. ‘I just want to make my world better today.’ The task was daunting: nightclubs were all closed for the day, and perhaps for the whole evening as well. He didn’t know if they would be open at all on the Sabbath. Instead of writing, his pencil sketched a female figure in his notebook. ‘I wonder what I’m thinking of today?’ He needlessly asked his poorly done nude drawing.
“Why don’t you take a city tour?” The hotel’s desk clerk suggested.
“Can you suggest a good one?” Russell inquired out of politeness. ‘The truth is, he’s likely got one that gives him a commission on referrals’.
“What else are you going to do on such a miserable day?”
“You’ve got a point there.” The reporter on a search for stories took the proffered brochure.
“Sign me up.” He instantly regretted his moment’s spur decision. ‘I’ll hate it. I’m not a guided sightseeing trip enjoying guy.’ But it was too late: the desk clerk was already on the phone and booking it. Thirty-two minutes later, he was on a bus.
“Hans Christian Anderson kept his hands busy right here,” the tour guide spoke into a microphone that amplified his obnoxious voice so loud that even a person hiding in the rear toilet compartment couldn’t escape, “and-in-some unchristian ways too.”
‘Don’t give up your day job for a career in comedy.’ The unappreciative bus tourist remarked internally. The guide was fluent in at least four languages and utterly inept at humor in all of them. ‘On second thought, feel free to give up this occupation. You won’t be any worse at a stand-up routine but there, the audience wouldn’t have to leap from a moving vehicles to walk out on the performance.’
“We’ll stop here and walk to where we can watch the changing of the palace guard.” A short while later the tour host explained, as the bus stopped on the street.
‘Unless the royal guards changing involves them stripping from military gear to the white underwear and then donning matching pajamas,’ he mentally scoffed, ‘that’s of no help to my truth or fiction search for stories on how to make the world better.’
‘And then I spied her!’ Russell recalled that instant with clarity, as if a grand cosmic camera had snapped an indelible photo into his memory.
Read more of 'My name is Ivanka' - How to make the world better - <--- Click just back there
P.S. This fiction is largely truth: perhaps you've noticed the lead character has my name. Hers however, was not Ivanka and other than that, I'm not saying which parts are truth or fiction. I will say that during the time I knew her, my world was better.
