Love On Any Street

October 26th, 2014 by George Martorano

Everything came to an end so fast. It was Jeff’s last week at Trenton penitentiary. He’d done so well the five years he spent there. It changed him, and all he wanted was to be with his loved ones. That part ended quickly. Janette and their two kids were driving to see him for his last prison visit, one car hit another, that one hit a large truck and the large truck wiped Jess’s family off the face of God’s green and asphalt Earth.

It was some months ago that a unkept, uncomposed lawyer pushed the respectable sum in the form of an insurance check in front of Mr. Chevoll, Jeff. It took some months for Jeff to gamble and drink it all away, making sure his boozed-up brain never saw a clear day or thought a clear thought about Janette and the children.

Now he paced, almost sober. Paced in a tan shirt, black pants, with a gun in his waistband. It was downtown New York near the Lincoln Tunnel. Being broke and some-what hungry led to a plan. He saw the truck he wanted make a right out of the tunnel.

“Good,” he spoke while moving fast for the open window, the running board…..

“Pull it in that side street !”. Jeff shouted and poking the gun in the window.

The driver’s eyes widened and only stared at Jeff, so much so he forgot to slow or brake. The impact with the van in front threw Jeff into a dumpster, only to roll off, out cold at the entrance to a smelly alley. The van driver shouted this and that while the truck driver ran for a cop…..

Jeff started to come to, feeling the pulling of his arms and torso. His eyes focused on a dirty, humble face of some helping derelict……

Jeff laid in the large cardboard box for days with his busted head, trying and trying to remember yet all in vain, all in vain.

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He knew it was August by the heat and the hot, warm feeling of the metal on the cars he washed……”That’s it, Sonny. Remember to get the rims good,” said the derelict friend that had helped Jeff that day of the botch robbery. Except the old, worn out bum, Old Bill, didn’t know Jeff’s name. Neither did Jeff. In fact Jeff, now “Sonny” just a given name, didn’t know anything about his past, only the present.

They now lived in a cell under Madison Square Garden, deep underground there are units, cell-like rooms that the construction workers used to use when building the immense subway system below the Garden. There are many down there, but the police leave them be if they are kept clean and there are no fires.

Up on the East Side at an intersection of a plush dead-end street and a corner, the old man and Sonny set up a carwash. Everyday except Sunday they wash cars. They have an old large wrench for the fire hydrant, two dented buckets, and lots of rags and sponges.

The outside work had Sonny tan and looking more handsome. Even his blond hair is more golden and enhances his green eyes. Old Bill, his friend and enterprising derelict partner, notices that they have been getting more women that seem to need their car washed lately. But they still have to do a few cop’s cars a month for free because they don’t have a permit and are using city water for free.

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Joyce never bothered going to the Hamptons on the weekends with the other girls from the office. No, she thoroughly enjoyed this new city and the new loft she moved into six weeks ago. She figured next summer she would go out there to walk along the beach and maybe party with the men.

She knew that walking along the beach would be fine, but the men, that was something else and not for her. Oh, she liked men but she wasn’t a so called fast-New Yorker and most likely she never would be. No, for her weekends Joyce Lesser so enjoyed the long walks around a somewhat empty New York City in the summer. Finding open, out-of-the-way thrift shops with useful things for her loft, suited her just fine.

She also loved being all alone there in her loft, more space than items yet, and opening that one large, push-out bay window, there up on the second floor over the cool looking garage. Up there, with the window set just right, she can smell and hear the sounds of New York…..Oh,and right below, across her street with little traffic, right there against the long, tall wall….. Are the two wooden crates those two car washers sit on.

[to be continued ]

By: George Martorano
copyright: 12973
10/25/14

Of Nina and Bentley

October 23rd, 2014 by George Martorano

Dear Nina,

In the night and with a pen, an Angel appeared…..She asked…..”Bentley tell me of your heart and what holds dear.”
Then, I barked and the good Angel understood. The separation of love from a small dog to his Nina he so knew.

You see, it came from across the sea, daring worst to find the lives of both we…..

Oh, and how we use to laugh and play.Through the rhododendrons we’d run, our eyes catching the green of vine, the beautiful flowers the color of Roseberry wine.

My Nina my Nina…..This cage I am kept, closed sides and affront to see….. I cry with the morning sun. I pray when evening comes. For you Nina to be safe. Taken from my love….. my my for Heaven’s sake.

Nina, my Nina, the rhododendrons do wait. For this little dog and girl….. and the forest path to take.

Rhododendrons, rhododendrons, ooh, how lovely they are. And knowing and caring of two hearts who now dream dream afar.

Yes, green vine, flowers the color of Roseberry wine. Some day they’ll set us free….. Nina, how we will run to find the path, taking our joy high with song …..Just your small Bentley barking barking with such glee…..

Rhododendrons, rhododendrons…..Nina, the bright flowers will always….. welcome….. thee .

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George Martorano, wrote these words after seeing, little Bentley the dog in a cage and kept far, far away from its owner….. Nina, the poor nurse that contracted the Ebola virus in Texas…..

“You see, it came from across the sea.”

(copyright: 12973)
10/1/14

Dear World [ I Just Want to be Heard ],

October 5th, 2014 by George Martorano

For some years now I am housed in the Skills Program Unit. Of which the court-ordered inmate students in the program have emotional, physical and learning disabilities. Once arriving in the skills program they of course are put in the classroom. Where I come in as a teacher and mentor. There is a life style educational course that lasts for 16 months of varies classes one has to take before he graduates…..Aah, then there is the special day of performances, speeches, certificates….and a different me. So, on that special festive day…..”Rosco” appears. You see, I created the very very low to the ground character “Rosco”. I do this by getting the biggest pair of shoes I can find on the compound; kneel into them with my knees; drape a large poncho over me, of course my famous large, chewed up straw hat and my twisted, taped up glasses. And, with each graduation, “Rosco” has something to say…..

“I never wrote before, I started this letter in the hole…..The hole is a place to think a lot and get mad a lot. Yet, I must like it, for I am always going back. I do not really know how to write much but I am trying. For I believe I can change. You see, all my life people made fun of me, hurt me. So I did things to hurt them back. But in the end…..I only beat myself down. I have now learned feeling sorry for myself and lashing out only brings those inter tears. No, Heaven and even the skills program, want me to help myself….. My name is Rosco and today reading this at graduation…..I am going to be a better person. Though I am small, my hopes and dreams be tall…..So, please, please world. I want you to know. Today, I begin to change…..Today I am happy rain.”

I subscribe myself,
George [Rosco] Martorano
10/4/14

Mud’s Brutal Beauty [Act III]

October 5th, 2014 by George Martorano

SCENE: It is such a lovely day. Up on stage, there is a quaint, colorful, tree lined city street; birds should be singing. There is a bench facing the audience. On the bench is Lorraine and Officer Terry [ Brian]. They are now both dressed in every-day-fashion. She is wearing a lovely, light colored, summer dress, with a touch of flowers…..and, once Mud’s Brutal Beauty even holds a beautiful ,bouquet flowers, and, a latte in the other. Brian, no less, is in a business suit also drinking a latte. On the bench with them is a flower-box and a couple small bags. Also, near there feet on the ground is a large, fancy, shopping bag…..Right behind where they sit, is, a very large cut-out of a tour bus; on the bus’s side states,’ Liberty Bell Tours’…..Oh, one last thing…..Lorraine is ‘showing’….for she is pregnant.

LORRAINE: “Look at the colors on the petals, my so deep, so rich.”

BRIAN: “Like your eyes.”

LORRAINE: “Oh, you’re so sweet, you’re always saying nice things…..Ooh!” [She quickly holds her stomach]

LORRAINE: [continues] “Oh, the baby kicked. The way the little sucker kicks, I bet it’s going to be a boy.”

BRIAN: “Boy or girl, doesn’t matter as long as we’re all together.”

LORRAINE: “Yes, our love is a strange one, I’ll give us that.”

BRIAN: “I’ll say, still got pain in my back, you know the day we first met.” [He simulates stabbing, then feels his back]

LORRAINE: [Laughs] “Your back’s ok when I scratch it making love.” [And she gently rakes her fingernails across his arm, then kisses his cheek]

BRIAN: [Reaches in one of the small bags] “Here, some more chocolate.”

LORRAINE: [Takes a piece] “Umm, oh my, I can’t get enough of chocolate, this baby got to love chocolate, I crave it so much.” [Chews , laughs]

BRIAN: “Hey, you think we’ll like Montana?”

LORRAINE: “What’s not to like, it’s beautiful up there. Christ, better than North Philly, better than this whole damn city. We’ll just start a new life, who knows have more kids.” [Laughs]

BRAIN: “…..More?”

LORRAINE: “Sure, why not, one thing about us, we’re not afraid to take chances, are we?”

BRIAN: [Shakes his head no] “…..No, we go for it.”

LORRAINE: [Holds up latte in salute] “Go for it.”

SCENE: We hear S.O. of a loud engine…..Then, the tour bus begins moving off from behind them…..And there, in the backdrop, across the street, in large letters, states, ‘Jefferson Bank’, and of course the structured front of a bank and its’ two front doors.

BRIAN: [Looks at his wrist watch] “Well, it’s nine, opening time, shall we?”

LORRAINE: ” Yes we shall.”

SCENE: Quickly and roughly they discard their lattes to the ground…. Also, the lovely bouquet gets tossed down too. Then, Brian reaches down into the large shopping bag, comes out with two masks, hands her one….. Once, the masks are on them,we see the infamous face of the prisoner, George Martorano …. Brian, then reaches into the bag again, takes out a saw-off shotgun . Lorraine, just flips off the lid of the flower-box and out comes a machine gun.

BRIAN: [Stands] “…..Ready!?”

LORRAINE: [Stands, yet, with Brian's help, After all she's pregnant] “…..I’m always fuckin’ ready!”

SCENE: And with a warrior’s cry…..!! They both start to hurry across the street; Lorraine holding her stomach and gun…..

Lorraine: [ stops,yells] ” my chocolate , get the fuckin’ chocolate…..!”

SCENE: Brian runs back to the bench for the two small bags of chocolate, hurries back to her…..Then, they both quickly continue right through the front doors of the bank….. V.O. ‘ Everybody, hands in the air !!’…..Then. S.O. Of gun fire!!

[The Finale]

By: George Martorano
Copyright: 12973
9/27/14

Dear Human Hope:

September 23rd, 2014 by George Martorano

It is I ,George Martorano and I have been clinging to thee for oh so long . Thus, today I try, try and try; the start of 32- years, caged .

“The far away sound.The far away sound…..I and pen in the fourth-world night . Writing to strike hate. Writing for love. Writing less heart dies, fate killed…..Then I cry out ….. Go on George! Write WRITE! You must write!….. For time cheats mind, snaps the very spine of tears….. With hope and words, the happen comes ….. Yet alas, again I sit, the cursed son. There, in the dark corner of cell, head bent, hand crawls to ink….. You see, human hope. Long long ago they so so planned and prison came to this self. Came with little of dreams. Came to grind and grind….. No sun no moon no star just ugly day upon sorrow’s face….. Here, and I hear all. All alone…..The far away sound…..The far away sound….. Tis ‘ Hope’ ….. ”

I subscribe myself,
Prisoner- 12973
September 19th ,2014