Lavender Roaring Fork Clinchfield was no uncultured oaf. Despite burdened by a brilliant red snood that dangled past his chin, with consummate skill he directed his minions to control the chaotic atmosphere of the annual Iron Hollows Turkey Trot parade. By Saturday after Thanksgiving the nauseating post-feast lethargy had given way to brash displays of machismo as the costumed menfolk strutted like garish gobblers for their hens, the unimpressed females it could safely be said had with aplomb on Black Friday drained the household accounts quicker than parched corn down the gullet. The pharmacy did a brisk business in antacids.
The Daily Post prompt
Three Word Wednesday prompt
Authors note: This link Iron Hollows Fiction goes to the “Iron Hollows” category of 100-drabble fiction segments or click each drabble link below. They are not serially linked but rather vignettes set in and around the fictional town of Iron Hollows. I’ll be writing as the Muse moves, there is no time frame on posting and will depend on reader response.
“the legend of the time before”
“along the non-existent waterfront”
“gunpowder explodes, fireworks delight”
“clouds play peek-a-boo with moon”
“homemade gravy for the grits”
“unsuccessful sultry spring seduction”
“where there is snow there are complaints”