This is a continuation of “A Jogging Contradiction”: Seldom did anyone at Forgiveness, Inc., talk about Johnny Jacklin. He was the missing son. What little talk there was dwelled not on Johnny but on his absence. He was a myth instead of a man. The myth was sitting in Eliza Evermore’s office and …
Author: wastedpilgrim
I'm a writer.
Blogs. Novels. Journalism. Songs.
It's all I know how to do well.
Whaddaya Do?
Last night provided no options I deemed satisfying other than going to Viva Zapata and getting Luis to put together something I’d like. I loved it. I don’t know what it was. It had beef, onions, cheese, was served with refried beans and rice, and that narrowed it down to seventy-seven possibilities. If I order …
What I’ve Learned Lately
I just finished another once-over – a third-over, if such a word exists, or, perhaps more properly, a fourth draft – of my third novel, which is called Crazy of Natural Causes. I now consider it ready to be publication, though it is not impending. I considered it ready after the third-draft, too. After I …
A Jogging Contradiction
Up this hill and down, and up another hill. Lathered. Rinse. Repeat. I’m tired. It’s so sensuous. Eliza Evermore enjoyed her life in Colorado Springs. It was inspiring to jog in the breathtaking shadow of Pikes Peak. Olympians trained here. She just plodded along. Sometimes she watched the flyboys marching at the Air Force Academy. …
Peace of Mind
Mr. Boylston was a cute little man. He came down for the free breakfast each morning, already dressed in a wool blazer he’d probably had for thirty years. His scent was of Old Spice and hair tonic, and it evoked images of times when families took taxicabs uptown to do their shopping on Saturdays and …
The Lucky Break
The morning had already been bad enough. Five years earlier, Max Marberry had run the Crestwood office of the Warren Insurance Agency, that is, until Harry Warren had sold out to a Spartanburg agency owned by Leland Allin, who had installed his son as the manager of the Crestwood storefront. Now the elder Allin was …
The Lucky Break, Final Part
It wasn’t much trouble for Max Marberry to draw from his Master Card and get two thousand dollars at the Suntrust branch on the outskirts of Spartanburg. He couldn’t make the transaction at the drive-through window, though, and had to walk inside. He parked the car and instinctively removed the keys. It wasn’t because he …
The Lucky Break, Part Two
“How long you got?” Golightly asked as we pulled out of the city parking lot. “Well, as you may have known before I did, my position has been eliminated,” I said. “I reckon I’ve got to get my stuff cleaned out by the end of the day.” “I need a ride to Spartanburg.” “Great.” “You …
The Lucky Break, Part One
The morning had already been bad enough. Five years earlier, Max Marberry had run the Crestwood office of the Warren Insurance Agency, that is, until Harry Warren had sold out to a Spartanburg agency owned by Leland Allin, who had installed his son as the manager of the Crestwood storefront. Now the elder Allin was …
Little Things Mean Too Much
At this stage of life, one considers strictly important matters. One questions matters he has blithely accepted for decades. For instance, the word “like” is often used to mean “lack,” as in the great line from Roger Miller’s “Dang Me”: “I like fourteen dollars having twenty-seven cents.” One thinks, why is it “like”? And, then, …
Nightrider's Lament 