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Vol. 44, April 18th, 2023
The Wings on the Bus
“I’m Josh, and I’ll be your BEE bus driver today.” The box with 3,000 of ‘em arrived safe and sound in the bee yard. Welcome home!
Bees Everywhere
“Get off our lawn, you idiot. Your mother is a factory queen. Put the wall back, or we’ll sting you EIGHT times.” I don’t speak Honeybee, so unfortunately, I missed their cursing. All I heard was angry buzzing.
“Looks fine, dude, carry on.”
I waved my buddy onward from the safety of the ground, continuing the timeless male tradition of bad advice, forgetting to give him the good gloves. The honeybees in the wall of the abandoned house found the weakness of his thin gloves. “Ow ow they got me!” Leaping down from the old dishwasher, he sprinted to safety, a few guard bees following. Apparently, they didn’t want to go live in his bee yard.
Catching a swarm of different bees later that day was much easier. They were looking for new digs, and were only slightly grumpy. The easiest yet were the bees in the “bus” (see photo) up from Georgia. With a shake, they tumbled into their new hive on Long Mountain. I didn’t get stung. But I can tell you, the electric fence is working well. Ouch. Twice.
Hear that buzz? It’s bees laughing.
Pass the Tea, Mr. Revere
Ol’ Paul took his famous ride this evening, 1775. “The regulars are coming!”
Down the Rabbit Hole
The American Revolution seems like Elvis—so famous it’s easy to overlook. It was today in 1783 that George Washington announced the end of hostilities with Britain. You might check out some local Revolutionary history.
Let us know what you find.
Book of the Week:
“Team of Rivals - The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln” - Doris Kearns Goodwin
Astonishingly detailed, riveting, and illuminating, you’ll dig this inspiration for the Lincoln movie.
Reader Spotlight
Marge L. was a legal secretary for 25 years, and reads a book a week. She lives in Charlotte, NC.
Write to Us!
The Nighthawk is a new old-fashioned way to connect, published weekly. You’re invited to write back, or just enjoy reading. Let’s have some fun! It’s a social paper! Send stories, etc to: PO Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588 or email JoshUrban@protonmail.com
Letters from Josh
(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #130)
Howdy, folks! Continuing our fantastical tale, our heroes met the Deluder, a Charlie Chaplin look-alike who makes it up as he goes along. Electro shouts about the injustice, and the Deluder points to an ordinary man, gray in every aspect, unnoticed by the stairs. “Hello. Welcome.” His bored voice didn’t echo, but sounded strangely hollow. This is...
The Return of Dr. Electro - #24: Sub-Basements
The man of the ordinary took a languid step towards them, calmly, reasonably, collected. He spread his hands, blandly nodded to the ladies, and put one gray shoe in front of the other.
The sound of eternity hung between the measured footfalls on the stone floor. The ordinary man approached with a crushing serenity, corporate, logical. Electro sucked in a breath.
Don’t bad men have a halo of fire? What exactly is evil about him? I wish he would yell.
The man stopped, looking with a placid gaze. “My friends, you shouldn’t meddle. We are building great things, rearranging, reforming, removing, replacing. Why did you intrude?”
“Uh, you dropped us here, buddy.” Preacher sounded annoyed. “And the explosion? We were here to help Lady Wilkes get her gem back. Then it sounded like the block blew up.”
“Ah yes, one needs to break a few eggs...But still, leave well enough alone. One lady won’t miss one gem.” The man turned, diplomatically. “Dr. Electro, I’ve heard of you. Your book on amplification and music was most interesting. Some advice from one scientist to another: Keep on the sunny side, sir. No need to involve yourself in all of this...unpleasantness.”
“My dad’s in your basement, I’ve been a hobo for days, and now I’m your prisoner. I’d call this involved” Electro huffed. “I’m having a hard time keeping my feet on the ground, sir.”
Something about the grayness of the man infuriated Electro. The absence of horns and a tail, or at least sharp edges, made him question his own suspicion about the man being a villain. The dungeon reminded him of reality, and the danger. The contrast of the two grated on his mind, an incessant mosquito whine impossible to dispatch. He felt stupefied by mediocrity.
“Suit yourself.” Ordinary man shrugged, turning on a polished heel. The Deluder, silent until now, cackled maniacally in the background.
“Oh, no sir, a word.” Electro stepped forward. “Where’s the stolen citrine? We mean to find it. And we mean to learn your secrets. And we mean to...” His voice turned into a croak.
Ordinary man snapped his fingers. The walls hummed. Blue bolts of electricity arced from the ceiling. The gang fell as one to the flagstones, twitching, immobile. “Ah, Dr. Electro” Ordinary man sighed. “You never learn. He snapped his fingers again. The lights went out.
Electro lay on the floor, teeth clenched, shaking, convulsing, shocked. At least the stones were solid. Then they weren’t. A grinding sound, a sliding, then a falling, falling, into emptiness. He heard muffled sounds, yells through locked jaws.
Here we go again. A sub basement?
...To be continued next week…