Kreative Kue 391 asked for submissions based on this photograph:
“Where are you?”
“Standing on the corner by this green pole on Wayfair street.”
“What’s the cross street.”
“All I see is one sign.”
“What does it say?”
“Yeah, that helps. Can you give me anything that would pinpoint your location?”
“I have a red purse.”
“I mean a landmark.”
“The First National Bank, you mean?”
“Okay, is the bank in front of you or behind you?”
“Ah, I think I see you.”
“But I must go around the block ’cause I can’t get over.”
“Oh, just take your time. No rush at all.”
“You are being sarcastic, right?”
“You sure pick up stuff quickly for an idiot.”
“Now, now. This could happen to anyone.”
“NOT TO SOMEONE WHO IS SUPPOSED TO BE THE GET-A-WAY DRIVER; IT DOESN’T.”
“Okay, be calm. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“I sure hope it’s before the cops do.”
“Don’t worry, they’re behind me.”
My effort was:
Jeanne Desjardins was beyond excited. This was the first time her editor had allowed her out on her own. Her editor was none other than Jaques Lefebvre (that’s right, the editor most feared in journalistic circles due to his uncanny ability to spot any and every error of spelling, punctuation or grammar – and goodness help any hack who reported anything that couldn’t be independently verified and confirmed) and Jeanne was one of those who had been tasked to cover a presidential address.
Armed with nothing but her mobile phone and her notebook, Jeanne made her way to what she believed was to best place to see the president pass. She took up her position near a pedestrian crossing and waited.
Less than an hour later, a group of motorcycle outriders appeared in her view, followed by three black limousines and tailed by more outriders.
This was it.
Flushed with a mixture of excitement and terror, she carefully counted off the seconds as the motorcade approached and noted the exact length of time it had taken to travel the distance she had already measured (five times to be completely sure) from the junction to the crossing. She switched to her phone’s calculator function and expertly calculated the limo’s rate of progress.
Having noted her calculations in her notebook, Jeanne double-checked her calculations, reverified the distance, called her editor and gave him the information he sought.
“Two problems, Jean,” he replied in a tone that failed utterly to reassure her that she had done a good job, “Firstly, I told you to go to the Hotel du Lac, not the rue du Lac, and secondly, I asked you to report on his speech – NOT HIS SPEED!”
Using this photo as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really; even just a caption for the photograph. Either put your offering (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at email@example.com before Sunday evening UK time. If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be appreciated, but please do also mention it in a comment here. Thank you for taking part.