What can YOU say in six sentences?
“For god’s sake, Nelle, it’s done. Don’t diddle with it.”…
Hearing the staccato footfalls of Reeboks in a hurry, I looked up from my typewriter as Lee, a 5-foot, 2-inch popcorn kernel ready to burst, stepped into my office. Without so much as a hello, she blurted, “Old Man Obadiah came by here while you were at lunch, and he wanted us to take a picture of the bald eagle he’d shot … for the paper.”…Continue
She writes of pedophilia, and I imagine many of you are quick on the “back” button if you open the poisonous prose, eager to dismiss the dark mind behind the words, as if not seeing or commenting will drive her from this community of writers. I’m among the stern-faced dismissers, filled with dread at…Continue
Obadiah broke into a four-toothed smile, cackling as if he’d found a $10 bill on the street. “No need for thet paper, Mr. Aubrey, if yer just lookin’ for an eagle,” he squeaked.…Continue
Obadiah Johnson’s cataract-clouded eyes, oysters swimming in cream, focused on the gilded paper in Aubrey Billingsley’s right hand before snapping back to meet the investigator’s raptorish scowl. The ancient black man, who rode around town on a bike he’d hand painted Sherwin-Williams green, was said to…Continue
The FBI agent and police chief shared the sofa across from me, high beams glaring as I squinted with the effort of recalling exactly what I’d heard a couple of nights earlier: the hollow boom of something colliding with a dumpster, loud enough to pull me out of REM quicker than the tickle of a palmetto…Continue
I didn’t attend for a grade or to impress persons behind or in front of easels, and I never viewed life drawing sessions as a cheap alternative to a neon dive skewered by a chrome pole. My reasons were more personal: a relaxing, yet soul-quenching way to spend a couple of hours with a…Continue
I couldn’t say whether it was Old Spice, Brut or something Avon sold in a colored bottle the shape of a car or boot, but whatever cologne Sheriff-for-life Claude Stephens favored had permeated the foam under the cheap vinyl-covered seats of his unmarked cruiser. He pulled up beside me on the courthouse…Continue
Tic-tic-tic-tic-tic ... Byram Hawkins thought his revving heart was going to throw a rod. No spring chicken, he’d been running for nearly an hour, painfully aware that he was being dogged by shirt-tucking, shiny-booted “revenooers” apparently tipped off to the moonshine he’d been distilling on the…Continue
Halfway into an hour-long wait at the doctor’s office with my mother today, I grew weary of staring at the bloody catheter bag taped to the thigh of the guy sitting across from us and slipped outside for a smoke. Soon after I began pacing, the car in the slot next to the handicapped spot pulled away,…Continue
Twice a week during the summer, several of us newspaper folk would caravan to a nearby state park, stopping at a grocery store along the way to purchase fresh meat, smoked sausage and drink mixers. We’d arrive within an hour of dusk, head for the remotest point, set the table, start the charcoal and…Continue
I was in Finland to hunt moose with the locals and to become acquainted with a new model of rifle, on the manufacturer’s dime.…Continue
I sometimes wake to the screaming of chickens.
Long before the cable television networks…Continue