The old man sat hunched over a large desk. I approached cautiously but he must have heard my steps. He turned and pushed the green plastic shade up on his forehead. Raising one eyebrow he asked what I wanted.

            I stammered, “A story of a hundred words.”

            Clearing his throat he turned back to the large desk covered with an assortment of notebooks of various sizes. His hands hovered and selected one, sliding it slowly towards the edge of the table.

            Opening it he paused then scribbled a few words. “I’ve added my name, Bartleby, exactly a hundred.”

Ken was a Professor of Mathematics, a ceramicist, a welder, an IBMer, and yoga teacher. He lives with his wife in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, writing late at night in his man-cave. He enjoys chamber music and mysteries. He's a homebrewer and runs whitewater rivers. His essays appear online in havokjournal.com and shepherdexpress.com.

Please visit www.kmkbooks.com.

kenkapp@yahoo.com on Facebook and Linkedin