I don’t wanna write, I wanna gripe. Common courtesy is dead. But if I write about it, I’m gonna get all wound up here at bedtime and I need to get some rest tonight. So, I’ll save it for a day I’m already mad. Writing prompt #911, courtesy of Barry the Chigger. Those of you on my Facebook know him as the guy who’s obsessed with the Kodak library. I know him as the guy who published my words about the helicopter crash and shit hittin’ the fan. I’ve unintentionally beguiled him with my Southern charm, but you never know when you might need a New York Yankee retired fireman to proofread an article on growing petunias. So here we are. #911 You gain control over a magical door. All you have to do is write a location, any location, at the top of the door and when you open it, it brings you to where you’ve written. Gained control? Makes it sound like I’m in a coveted spot, indeed. Like I had to sword fight for this right. Hmm. The “all you have to do” part seems a little suspect, too. And my handwriting is atrocious, so I better be very careful, indeed. “Historic Downtown Savannah Georgia,” I scrawled. Best to pick a place I’m familiar with to get my bearings on how this was gonna work. I opened the door, stepped through, and whoosh! It was like those…