Charley Tanner

Charley Tanner was of the opinion that separating whites from darks was for fags.

He didn't make a big deal out of it. He just didn't do it. Charley Tanner was a man's man.

Charley was twenty-two years old and six foot three inches tall, and had biceps like an aspen tree. If you ever in your life have had the chance to squeeze an aspen tree you would know it felt just exactly like one of Charley's biceps. If you were ever in a bar that Charley Tanner was in, the chances would be more than good that you have already squeezed one of Charley's biceps a time or two.

He would have insisted upon it.

So, when Charley was doing his laundry in the public launder mat and found the note rolled up in a little ball in the change pocket of his 501's, he thought to himself, “Where did this come from?”

“Help me please” said the note in female handwriting.

“Help. Me. Please.” Charley read out loud. He looked up at the ceiling and squinted his eyes and nothing came to him.

Charley tucked the note into the change-pocket of the pants he was wearing and threw his 501's into the washer with his pink socks and his beige sheets and his gray bath-towels and didn't think about it again until the following week when he found the note in the change-pocket of his 501's at the laundry mat. He tucked the note into his pocket again and threw his 501's into the washing machine with his gray socks and his gray sheets and his gray bath-towels.


-275 words-