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, …
Why I Haiku
I’m surprised at myself. It wasn’t suggested to me. I didn’t borrow it from anyone else. It just occurred to me that the poetic haiku works very well on Twitter. I’m sure there are haiku Twitter accounts, probably hundreds, maybe thousands, but they don’t show up on my timeline, and I haven’t followed any. While …
Where Might the Suspects Be?
Paralysis. Groping for some coherence. Doing menial chores just as a substitute for creativity, in the desperate hope that something will arise, something out of thin air or gray matter. Pairing socks. Washing dishes. Paying bills. Biding time till something, anything, happens along. He picked up his guitar, started strumming, but he wasn’t of a …
Alone Amid the Loneliness
Lots of folks are lonely. They’ve been left behind by modernity. They’re too old to peck away at the portable devices. They wish life could be simple again. On Monday, I’d been writing all day and hadn’t even left the house. I went to Wendy’s for supper because I didn’t want it to take much …
Writing Its Ownself
Nothing about writing is absolute. General rules of thumb abound. Discipline is required. It’s keeping score at a baseball game. The only way to do it is what works for you. Some etch a path around the diamond. Some rely on little dots and lines. Some worry about the balls and strikes. Some don’t. Few …
Nightrider's Lament 