Last year I had fun reading and analyzing short stories. It's one of my pleasures. I live for a good story. So from time to time this year (God and copyright laws allowing), I'll post and analyze short stories I find entertaining. The first of these is one by Ian McDonald titled "Pot O' Rice Horowitz's House of Solace." Now doesn't the following sound like the beginning of a really juicy story?
Pot O' Rice Horowitz was a ideal grocer. He was accustom to have a snap of rum under the pitch-pine counter for customers, twelve cents for the snap. He didn't bother about liquor law license and that kind of Government botheration. He serve up the snaps in green eyeglass and that was that. And he had well-stock shelf, you could never go there and say Pot O' Rice was out of cooking oil or lard or the good old salt-fish or opium candy. And he didn't put too much fine fine white sand in the white flour or fix up his scales to show three pound when it only have two and seven-tenth all the time. Horowitz's Grocery Emporium had reputation for honesty and fair dealing. You couldn't make nasty jokes about that.
Too besides Pot O' Rice have a daughter he could lend customers for the night, to take to pictures at the Roxy in pit and bounce a little arse afterwards. The daughter look old to be his daughter, because Pot O' Rice was not a old-looking test, only his eye look a bit old and hard, but nobody bothering about that to tell the truth. Pot O' Rice say it his daughter, well matter fix. Book up two pit at Roxy and let's get going. It is John Wayne shooting up Santa Fe, and afterwards the daughter prepared to pull down she blood-red panty, and you could fix up a little business with she one time. Full story here.
[More talk about Pot O' Rice and he daughter later]
