Young Max With A Beard

Tags

Artist, Digital Drawing, Drawing, German, Max Beckmann, Phil Gennuso

by phil gennuso

This is my digital drawing of the iconic German artist, Max Beckmann, as I imagine him as a young artist, with a beard.

Toronto 1967 Revisited #FlashFiction

Tags

Digital Art, flash fiction, German, Short Fiction, Toronto

Flying across Toronto, we were hitch-hiking, thumbs out, headed for the West coast, NY to Montreal, now approaching Toronto, some highway, yet to land in the city.

He pulled over, suddenly, shoulder, smile, cigarette side of his mouth, Mercedes, I think.

We jumped in!

Jack was in the front seat, me rear. Off we went. To the races. Literally.

He shot out like a rocket, no I am serious, that was ok, we all laughed, cigarette from his mouth.

A German fellow in Toronto, with a Mercedes. Is this how they drive in Germany? We looked at each other, sure, both thinking Autobahn, no speed limits.

I was peering over his shoulder, 60, 70, 80.

He was chatting, merrily, laughing, as if on a chaise lounge at a pool. Dressed carefully, dapper I would say.

He kept chatting, turning towards Jack, looking back at me, 85, 90, 95.

I think Jack and I were getting a little uptight, but he just kept it up.

I must admit he was a smooth driver. No he is not just going down an open road, on the straightaway, no it was not like that. He was weaving in and out, gliding almost, like a hang glider (I thought of those WW I planes), never stopped chatting turning, smiling, cigarette, looking at the road.

95, 100, 110.

Jack and I were definitely getting uptight but what could we do? We stayed cool, and laughed along. The ride ended as quickly as it began. Wow! That was fast.

We got out and thanked the gentleman, this crazy man, and he sped away as if taking off in an airplane. We just looked at each other, and then… burst out laughing. After all we were young and invincible, life was beautiful, this German guy was insane, but pure and innocent, like a bungee jumper.

Toronto 1967 #1 Flash Fiction

Tags

flash fiction, German, Short Fiction, Toronto

Flying across Toronto, we were hitch-hiking, thumbs out, headed for the West coast, NY to Montreal, now in Toronto, some highway, yet to land in the city.

He pulled over, suddenly, shoulder, smile, cigarette side of his mouth, Mercedes, I think.

We jumped in!

Jack was in the front seat, me rear. Off we went. To the races. Literally.

He shot out like a rocket, no I am serious, that was ok, we all laughed, cigarette from his mouth.

A German fellow in Toronto, with a Mercedes. Is this how they drive in Germany? We looked at each other, sure, both thinking Autobahn, no speed limits.

I was peering over his shoulder, 60, 70, 80.

He was chatting, merrily, laughing, as if on a chaise lounge at a pool. Dressed carefully, dapper I would say.

He kept chatting, turning towards Jack, looking back at me, 85, 90, 95.

I think Jack and I were getting a little uptight, but he just kept it up.

I must admit he was a smooth driver. No he is not just going down an open road, on the straightaway, no it was not like that. He was weaving in and out, gliding almost, like a hang glider (I thought of those WW I planes), never stopped chatting turning, smiling, cigarette, looking at the road.

95, 100, 110.

Jack and I were definitely getting uptight but what could we do? We stayed cool, and laughed along. The ride ended as quickly as it began. Wow! That was fast.

We got out and thanked the gentleman, this crazy man, and he sped away as if taking off in an airplane. We just looked at each other, and then… burst out laughing. After all we were young and invincible, life was beautiful, this German guy was insane, but pure and innocent, like a bungee jumper.