Here’s the beginning of another short story. There wasn’t anything wrong with Red Hawthorn that a couple eggs couldn’t fix, or, at the very least, help. He got up Friday morning the same way he got up most mornings, which was stooped over and hurting. Coffee got his juices flowing, but thankfully, a blood-pressure …
Tag: short
Furlough Blues
In case you missed the installments, here's the whole story. Nothing ever worked anymore for Jerry Lowndes. He was on a bad run. When Lowndes checked his email, he found more evidence that his book on the heroes of the Atlantic Coast Conference wasn’t a blockbuster. He had hoped it would provide some aid …
Furlough Blues, Part Five
This short story begins with a song and ends with a surprise. Months passed and the dirty feelings subsided in Jerry Lowndes. It was just another job, just errands he had to run, like going to the post office or shopping for groceries. It paid the bills. The packages had no smell. They were …
Furlough Blues, Part Four
The expansion of a song into a short story – by the end, one will have little to do with the other – continues with its penultimate part. As clueless as he had felt at any time in his life, Jerry Lowndes knocked on the door of Room 227 of the Nocono Lodge, where …
Furlough Blues, Part Three
This is a short story whose creative basis is a song of mine. It never seemed as if Jerry Lowndes slept. The jail cell wasn’t exactly the Hilton, though neither had been the motel room where he and Laurie had been cavorting. His mind had been alive, considering the depth of the hole and paucity …
Furlough Blues, Part Two
This continuing short story originated in a song of mine: Jerry Lowndes could have been doing many things had he immediately rolled up his sleeves and gone to work, making proposals of free-lance stories he could write, or arranging for some sort of loan to get him by, but any comprehensive plan for relief required …
Furlough Blues, Part One
This is yet another short story that originates in one of my songs. When Jerry Lowndes checked his email, he discovered that his book on the heroes of the Atlantic Coast Conference wasn’t quite the blockbuster he had hoped. He had hoped the book would provide some aid in fulfilling his daughter’s wish to transfer …
A Nice Break From Desolation
He’d have never wanted anyone to know it, but, yeah, Jack Pinson was drinking, even though it wasn’t even noon on Tuesday, when he got a text message from Hank McGonigald. Hank wanted to get together and have lunch the next time Pinson swung through Atlanta. I hate to fucking tell you, Hank, but I …
I Got Cash Money
This story, also based on a song of mine, is very short. Harvey Phelan was stranded magnificently, holed up in the last place he’d expect to be on Thanksgiving. As best he could tell, the body of water outside the window was called Alton Bay. The little village about a half mile away was either …
Stuck In A Rut, Final Part (7)
Yes. This all began with a song. I’m well beyond its boundaries now. “Josie, I want you to look at these fuckin’ … vehicles,” Tripp Fallaw said as they arrived at the country club. “Shit.” Josie was world-weary, cynical, burnt-out, and, of course, high. They said, Uncle Jed, it’s the place you oughtta be, so …
Nightrider's Lament 