This is the opening to a piece I wrote shortly after the Bowe Bergdahl affair hit the airways. I'll include a link to the tale at the end. Its a quick read, just over 1500 words.

Speaking Pashtun

BY DHMCCARTY 8/18

She took me to a Chinese ghost town. Gambling den, upstairs bordello, school, theater, used book store, Ning Hou's Gallery and Al the Wops Bar, all succumbing to the forces of gravity and the relentless Delta sun.  I collected memories in a box. She collected rhythm and rhyme.

Ning Hou pinned canvas  to a wooden shop door on Levee Street, oils drying in the heat of the day. Feral cats hissed at passersby from under a rotting wooden walkway. Suzanne Wong watered her commode garden with a rusting metal paint can and then discarded it on the bed of an ancient Dodge stake truck, Hedge Nettle and Fiddleneck peeking around rotting tires.

"I need to get out of the sun. A glass of Pinot would suit my palate. You?"

"I agree. I think I've got enough pictures. Now I need a nudge for inspiration."

"No storyline yet?"

"It'll come to me. Probably in the car on the way home. It's just past noon, we've got lots of time."

"I'm going to take you to Al the Wop's, my treat. They have the best peanut butter steaks."

"Peanut butter Steaks?"

She smiled.

You could roll a golf ball the length of Al's bar. When it reached the end it would roll back to you. Several hundred dollars worth of autographed one dollar bills decorated walls, stamped tin ceiling and  baseboard.

The grey bearded bartender, bifocals on the end of his nose and a heart-shaped tattoo reading 'Maria' on his bicep, smiled at the poet.

"What will it be Ma'am? You must be an animal lover. Picking up stray dogs on the street?"

He looked my way and grinned. There was no malice.

"He looked hungry and thirsty so I thought I'd bring him here for refreshment. He's a good boy."

Everyone had a chuckle at my expense.

Me? I just wanted a cold beer.

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