A vignette, from the French, is a little vine that aspires to be more. But sometimes that doesn't happen for all sorts of reasons. And that's fine as well. These little stories are the vignettes that are perfectly happy being what they are. And perhaps generally in good health. Each story has a beginning, middle, and end and "Bang, Bang" the stories are told I could nobly state that they were purposely designed as a public service to help those with a low attention span; for those who prefer watching three hours of sitcoms rather than actively reading for ten minutes; for those who simply wish to be served a beginning, a middle, and an end instead of having to think through or imagine what is or could have been; or to persuade a reader to bring his or her thoughts, memories, views, and emotions to similar experiences. Or I could sheepishly state that I myself don't have the sufficient attention span to compose longer narratives; that I don't have sufficient discipline to avoid the distractions of wanting another coffee, another nap, a second lunch, or that of a loud TV commercial; or that I get bored if faced with a difficult task of providing denser detail, delaying description, dumb dialogue, and dubious debris. If there's any truth in the old comment, "You must pick one or the Monsters will eat you," then the latter above is likely to be the case... if such a choice was necessary in your mind. All of these stories are true except for the parts that aren't. All of these stories are based on facts remembered or upon fantasies once had. It was difficult to determine if a story was based on actual facts experienced or upon actual fantasies imagined. Seems that as time went on, the bright, dividing line between the two narrowed then blended together. At first, that troubled me but being the deep thinker I fool myself to be, it eventually didn't seem to matter anymore. What was once fact is often subsequently disproven; what was once fantasy has often been actualized in the present. Where's the real?