One
RIKER OXFORD RAY felt the water rush in. Clear blue broke onto the beach, collecting sand over miles down the peninsula. He laughed. There was nothing to do in the night but watch the stars and ocean and laugh. So he stood on the edge of the pier, feeling the break of the water. His hair was dark, and it glistened in the lights. He was of average height, and gauntly featured. Another explosion of water spread before him, like a plain of crystal. He watched the violent swirls of the ocean, as they broke, as they collected and turned into tree-fungus-like shapes, and then foamed –– it looked like snow, the foam. The cosmos and the pacific and the Newport Beach encircled him –– enshrining him –– above the darkness. The lamp emitted …show more content…
It was the greatest thing he had seen all night. Outside of the doors of the deli, men and women sang songs from their drunken stupor, as they went arm-and-arm down the street. They walked with a loose wobble, occasionally stumbling. The old man brought out the food, and set it in front of Riker. He thanked the man, and tipped him. After his meal (which was one of the best he had eaten), Riker set back out into the night. He was not far inland, so the he could feel the frigid ocean breeze. No longer famished, he walked down the sidewalk back to his home. The clock struck twelve when he got home. He stood at the doorway, letting the lights of his home go on. The room was furnished with an expert simplicity, the kind one could expect from a dedicated man. He loosened his tie as he walked into the bedroom; which had on small bed, books lining everywhere, and a great window touching the ceiling, framing the Newport skyline. The city was a faint trace of black upon black, curving into the shape of a valley, and light specks delimiting the metropolis. Down below, past the people and lights, was the …show more content…
They looked at the sheet that showed the number, in millions, donated to the Clyten Museum of Modern Art. The old gentleman lighted a cigarette and nodded slowly. Samuel sighed, smiling. “Looks fine to me.” Tony said. Kirsten’s face contorted at the sight of the charts. He scratched his long neck, and shook his head laterally. “Last year’s net earnings for tonight were double. Even if this lunatic Riker didn’t manage to halt our donations, he sure stunted them. And we all read his works before considering him–– honestly I stopped halfway through his book–– and agreed he wasn’t a good fit. That is, Tony and I did. You swore he’d work–– that he didn’t even ask for a cut of the earnings . . . right then I should’ve known. “Now we have to sweep the ashes from the burning bridges this guy’s made. We’ve got forty different calls from cancelled exhibits this year. They question our judgment, which they should–– Tony and I should question yours!” He reached into his suit pocket for a cigarette. Tony quietly smoked and blew rings into the air. Kirsten kicked him from under the table, and the old man
RIKER OXFORD RAY felt the water rush in. Clear blue broke onto the beach, collecting sand over miles down the peninsula. He laughed. There was nothing to do in the night but watch the stars and ocean and laugh. So he stood on the edge of the pier, feeling the break of the water. His hair was dark, and it glistened in the lights. He was of average height, and gauntly featured. Another explosion of water spread before him, like a plain of crystal. He watched the violent swirls of the ocean, as they broke, as they collected and turned into tree-fungus-like shapes, and then foamed –– it looked like snow, the foam. The cosmos and the pacific and the Newport Beach encircled him –– enshrining him –– above the darkness. The lamp emitted …show more content…
It was the greatest thing he had seen all night. Outside of the doors of the deli, men and women sang songs from their drunken stupor, as they went arm-and-arm down the street. They walked with a loose wobble, occasionally stumbling. The old man brought out the food, and set it in front of Riker. He thanked the man, and tipped him. After his meal (which was one of the best he had eaten), Riker set back out into the night. He was not far inland, so the he could feel the frigid ocean breeze. No longer famished, he walked down the sidewalk back to his home. The clock struck twelve when he got home. He stood at the doorway, letting the lights of his home go on. The room was furnished with an expert simplicity, the kind one could expect from a dedicated man. He loosened his tie as he walked into the bedroom; which had on small bed, books lining everywhere, and a great window touching the ceiling, framing the Newport skyline. The city was a faint trace of black upon black, curving into the shape of a valley, and light specks delimiting the metropolis. Down below, past the people and lights, was the …show more content…
They looked at the sheet that showed the number, in millions, donated to the Clyten Museum of Modern Art. The old gentleman lighted a cigarette and nodded slowly. Samuel sighed, smiling. “Looks fine to me.” Tony said. Kirsten’s face contorted at the sight of the charts. He scratched his long neck, and shook his head laterally. “Last year’s net earnings for tonight were double. Even if this lunatic Riker didn’t manage to halt our donations, he sure stunted them. And we all read his works before considering him–– honestly I stopped halfway through his book–– and agreed he wasn’t a good fit. That is, Tony and I did. You swore he’d work–– that he didn’t even ask for a cut of the earnings . . . right then I should’ve known. “Now we have to sweep the ashes from the burning bridges this guy’s made. We’ve got forty different calls from cancelled exhibits this year. They question our judgment, which they should–– Tony and I should question yours!” He reached into his suit pocket for a cigarette. Tony quietly smoked and blew rings into the air. Kirsten kicked him from under the table, and the old man