inconclusive - a drabble of 100 words

The man in the (clean) sparkly pajamas sat on his sofa staring at his Oxford-clad toes. He felt empty inside. His writer was busy and there was nothing for him to do.
He reflected on the deli, the drycleaners, the wallpaper on his kitchen walls. All for what? he thought. His life was in limbo. A conglomeration of possibility, potential, significance... snuffed out when the real world of a real writer became more captivating than the invented one he inhabited. He simply wasn't, not anymore. Maybe never would be again.

Well. That's an idea to make a guy feel good about himself.

yellow - a drabble of 100 words

The dry cleaner's was empty when he stepped in the door and the man with(out) the sparkly pajamas was glad. Waiting in lines made him itchy. He clasped a pathetic bunch of dandelions to his chest with both hands. All the stems were broken.
A girl in a well-ironed blouse placed the pajamas on the counter (she remembered them well from the previous afternoon). She looked bored. "Cash or debit please," she said.
The man looked down at the business cards by the register. "Here," he said quietly, pushing the flowers into the teller's palm.
"These are for you."

empty pages - a drabble of 100 words

It was not very cold out so the man didn't mind stepping outside in his orange-and-yellow-checkered swim trunks for his morning walk to the library. His sparkly pajamas were at the dry cleaner's and so he had no other choice.
He waited outside the library for twenty minutes. The librarians unlocked the door for him and greeted him with a warm, "Hello," as they had every Tuesday morning for the past thirty-two years.
The man seated himself in an armchair with copy number four of Twilight and calmly began painting whiteout all over page fifty-seven.
"This is not a good book," he said.

suck on that? - a drabble of 100 words

The girl in the light-up sneakers stood staring at the bits of aluminum metal around the man's ankles. She reached into her pocket and pulled out twelve soda tabs. Three of them were a tell-tale neon green. Five-year-olds shouldn't drink that.
She dropped them into the pail at the man's calloused feet. The man smiled, continuing to play his ukelele from his perch on the brick wall of the park.
The girl looked at him expectantly. Then she spit three pennies out of her mouth into her palm and held them out.
"Will you make me a hobo bracelet?"

oatmeal soup - a drabble of 100 words

The kitchen was papered with olive green wallpaper that gently peeled and curled from the wall in sheets, showing cracks in the plaster. The man in the sparkly pajamas paced back and forth, eyes focused on the yellowed linoleum tile at his feet. A bowl of oatmeal sat steaming in the sink with the tap gushing cold water all over it. The man wondered when his Oxfords would hatch from their eggs at the deli. The woman behind the counter had said it would only be a few weeks.
He owned no laundry baskets. How does one wash sparkly pajamas?

black and white - a drabble of 100 words

The man in the sparkly pajamas sits at the small iron table on the terrace outside the deli, reading a newspaper. Young girl arrives at store only to discover she has eaten her own shoe. He sips the coffee he bought from the deli. The deli does not sell coffee and the young woman has told him this too many times to count. This morning she sold him the latte (skim milk, two sugars) she had bought for herself at the cafe down the street. The styrofoam cup matches the letters on his sweatshirt.

Man wears parrot hat.

The man in the sparkly pajamas sat at the small iron table on the terrace outside the deli, reading a newspaper. He was waiting for the young woman behind the counter to give him an update on the Oxfords he requested. He sipped the coffee he bought from the deli. The deli did not sell coffee and the young woman had told him this too many times to count. This morning she sold him her own iced latte which she had bought from the cafe down the street. It was somehow made just how he liked it.

The young woman had taken to saying that the Oxford eggs had not hatched yet. they would be ready within a few weeks. She did not know what she would say in June.

the girl in the orange leggings - a drabble of 100 words

The girl in the orange leggings examined her profile in the clouded window of the frozen foods aisle as she pushed her scraggly-wheeled shopping cart over the linoleum floor. She swung her hips noticeably - unnecessarily so - as she selected three trays of Lean Cuisine from the freezer. Insipid stuff and not very filling, but hey. You don't get a body like that eating macaroni and cheese.
She jumped, startled. A hoarse whispered voice. A jingling footstep. A red parrot hat.
"Your bum," said the man in sparkly pajamas, speaking softly but suddenly from two feet behind her, "is very nice."

the man in the Northeastern sweatshirt - a drabble of 100 words

The man in the Northeastern sweatshirt lengthened his stride and twisted the volume wheel on the side of his Walkman as loud as it would go. He was not any old middle-aged speedwalker. he had once been a politician, and almost a lion tamer, back in his prime. He could quote all of Shakespeare's King Lear backwards from memory. He was young. He was cool. He was hip. His unshod feet pounded the pavement to the beat of Kid Cudi.
He did not notice as the children laughed and pointed at his sparkly pajamas.

ok. so i'm doing this thing that Nicole proposed called DrabDayMoMay. this stands for "A Drabble a Day for the Month of May." i'd be surprised if you hadn't heard her talking about it. anyway. i'm hoping to carry on a theme for the whole month, so i'm posting my drabbles on my own blog so that it's more cohesive, instead of here, where everyone else is posting: http://drabdaymomay.blogspot.com
here goes!

the man with the sparkly pajamas - a drabble of 100 words

The man with the sparkly pajamas tiptoed to the deli counter. The plush parrot sat contentedly on his head and his ankles jingled with bracelets made from soda tabs.
"A pair of oxfords please," he said, "men's size 10."
"Beg pardon?" The young woman behind the counter shoved the ham sandwich in her left hand into a brown paper bag and thrust it sharply at a customer. "This here's no cobbler shop."
Frowning, the man shuffled his feet.
"But oxfords and sandwiches go together," he whispered, in the most melancholy tone you can imagine. "Like hippos and Skittles, you know."