Daily Prompt; Opening Lines


“It gets so sticky down here”— Little Bones by Tragically Hip


It gets so sticky down here in the bakery in the summer. Layers of sweetness and sweat build up on your face and arms attracting the flies. I’m working spread out over a long counter with a huge bowl of whipped cream, a bucket of icing, and a tray of cakes; flapping my arms, shaking my head and cursing, “buggers!” “bastards!”

I’m sure some people must look in and think I have Tourette’s Syndrome.


Today’s post was inspired by the Daily Prompt; Opening Lines :  What’s the first line of the last song you listened to (on the radio, on your music player, or anywhere else)? Use it as the first sentence of your post.



I haven’t posted all week because I’ve been getting a lot of hours at work. Grand Bend is a tourist town and it’s the last week of summer. The kids are cranky, the mothers are harried, the young people are desperate to have a good time before its over; the tension is building up to Labour Day Weekend.

I live in another beach/cottage community and the feeling is the same here.  Fall is tapping on our shoulders. The tourists try to squeeze every minute out of the end of summer while the locals look forward to some peace and quiet. Being able to drive on the road without stupid people towing their unfortunate kids to the beach, teetering on the side-lines while testosterone-crazed young men speed around in their jeeps and fast cars. Labour Day weekend works up to a frenzy then, boom, it’s over. I love to see the sand blowing across the road; a  tumbleweed rolling by. OK, we don’t have tumbleweed, sometimes its just a shopping bag but you know what I mean. You can almost hear an harmonica cry a lonesome song.

I can walk on the beach again.