The Tide Of Chapado Joe

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In a downtown world screened off by grapevines, Chapado Joe lived his whole life on grilled fish, crusty bread and cheap homemade wine. He didn’t realize fate would require of him only one choice.

     In the beginning Joseph was thought of as special. He was a polite, good-looking boy with intense eyebrows, dark curly hair and a charming smile. He was popular at high school and his ball hockey team became Ontario Champions; the peak of Joe's success.

     Chapado Joe drank everyday.

     On Baldwin Street loud fishmongers in scale-splattered smocks would call him “Hey Chapado!” to hose the gut-strewn floor or other horrible jobs for a cup of homemade wine. He would collect empties to buy bottles of booze, which you could see sticking out of his dirty, oversized coat pocket. Sometimes Joe would stand in the middle of the street, yelling in a voice so husky it was hard to understand, his arm outstretched with a stubby finger pointing a downwards “I live here”; in halting mini sentences, depending on his mood, “Fuck you" or "I love you". One thing he knew was where to be when the wine came out.

     Often at the bakery, drunk in the afternoon, Chapado Joe would be told to leave. On automatic pilot he’d make his way back to the garden where his family used to live. He would teeter onto a flimsy chair and blearily look at the hands on his lap. Later, sitting there, he would pull his coat over his head and with just his knees and boots showing, sleep.

264 Words

Lucky Emily

Emily was a lucky person. All the ladies at work told her so when she, surprised by her wins, would share coffee coupons or things from the Avon catalogue. However if she expected to win, she wouldn’t get anything, she could not take her luck for granted.

      One blustery evening Emily found two live lottery tickets outside her door. After a solitary,  gloomy supper, while letting out the cat, she noticed the official looking wet tickets blown against her door step.

      Occasionally she’d seen expired tickets blowing in the wind, when disappointed gamblers set the chits free hoping the liberated wishes would come back and bestow better luck next time. Emily didn’t play the lottery, she preferred her risks to be less obvious, but she could tell these were lucky tickets.

      She knew what she’d do if she won sixty million dollars. She would buy all the cottages on a nearby cul-de-sac, build beautiful, sustainable studio homes, a community kitchen and fill the enclave with friends. She would travel and live for a while on every continent, leading a different life in each place. Dress in bright fabrics and laugh all day with someone she loved. She would sail, bike or maybe ride horses everywhere.

      The yellow tickets were slightly damp, and both had a smudged signature that looked as if the author couldn’t write very well. On the back the claims investigating process was described. She had heard about someone who had lost their receipt but still got fifty million dollars without it.

     Nobody would know they were a little further under the doormat. Emily called the cat and went to bed.

285 words