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Day 5 of the writing challenge is to write a story about a road trip, fact or fiction, with dialogue as if it’s happening.

The sky was so gray it seemed the sun would never shine again. It match the biting cold. This was the last factory on my schedule. Once I checked in with these guys, I could go home for Christmas. I was eager to get to finish my review and get some shopping done. It wasn’t everyday I was working in the south of France, so champagne, chocolate and china were top on my list.

What wasn’t top on my list the crawling pace of the traffic ahead of me. A few hours outside of Paris and everything had come to a virtual standstill.  I was just outside of a small village, a one horse town. Since it was France, maybe a one snail town was more appropriate especially considering the pace. I could have walked faster then we were driving.

I have to say that little silver rental car had one heck of a heater. It wasn’t long before I had to crack the window. I waited semi-patiently my thumb tapping on the steering wheel to the tune on the radio. I heard something strange. Horns, maybe a tuba? It certainly wasn’t in keeping with the French version of pop music playing on the radio.

I turned the radio off, rolled the window down and listened. Drums. Cymbals. It was definitely music. As we crept up to the edge of town, the ten or so shops which made up the business district were decked with tinsel and bells.  People lined the streets mostly women and children bundled against the cold. Some cameras flashed.

What was going on?

I leaned out of the window to catch a glimpse of the traffic ahead as the road curved to the left. Ahead of me I glimpsed a marching band, a fire truck and several fancy cars. That’s when I realized I was in the middle of the town’s Christmas parade.

I smiled and waved as people snapped my picture. Later they probably asked each other, “Who was that woman in the silver car?”

I like to thing the reply was, “A visiting dignitary, of course.”

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cutting apple

I wish I was a food designer. I’m sure they’re out there. People paid to come up with flavors of things like chips, jelly beans and protein bars.

I think a girl named Twig makes all the protein bar flavors. They all come in some kind of animal feed flavor – oats, wheat, or rice (crispy’s) and sugar.

Sure these things are good for a day or two and then they begin to wear on me. Fruit and grain, fruit and grain, day after day. Sure they throw in a few nuts every now and then, but it’s the same basic taste.

With my flavors I could open a “Protein Bar” Bar. So this is me ordering in my Protein Bar Bar.

“I’ll have the Chicken Fried Steak and Gravy Protein Bar, a side of Shrimp Fried Rice Protein Bar and a Margarita Protein Bar. Oh what the heck give me two Margarita Protein Bars. I’m not driving tonight.”

The waiter would chuckle and say, “Excellent choice, Madam.”

My sister would say, “Do you have the Lobster Dipped in Butter Protein Bar on the kids’ menu? I’m not very hungry. Can I substitute a Martini Protein Bar for the drink?”

I would roll my eyes behind her back and the waiter would chuckle again.

When he left I would say, “You know they have a special key on that computer that says “Spit in the Food” protein bar and he just used it on your order.”

She’d squawk, “No they don’t,” but she would closely inspect her food.

She thinks I don’t notice, but I do.

After she devours her little, tiny meal, she’d want a bite of mine which in reality would be half my food.

When I’m sick, I would have a Chicken Pot Pie Protein Bar and think about my Grandma.

And sometimes late at night when no one’s looking, I would have 4 or 5 Chocolate, Chocolate Truffle Ice Cream Protein Bars and maybe 2 or 3 Turtle Cheese Cake Protein Bars. The next day I would pretend I didn’t know who ate them.

Yeah, my protein bars would be like meals at the Jetson’s.

(This story does not in anyway reflect the things I might or might not do in reality. As for my sister who thinks your friends might see this and think it’s about you, you might want to consider why.)

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