The red planet. God of war. Seeing red. Red-headed stepchild. The ginger planet. Cinnamon dust. People who live on Mars are used to seeing everything in shades of pink, red and orange. Earthlings refer to it as pinkeye. Red hair was becoming more common on Mars. Strawberry blonde all the way down to a red-yarn scarlet that doesn’t exist on ( Read more... )

Drunk in a dark pub called The Rusty Johnson, I remembered how every pool of sweat was an oasis on the desert of your body ( Read more... )

He started life a female ( Read more... )

Cold tires and chicken wings. Dinosaurs and dice ( Read more... )

Hit men are not naturally gregarious people ( Read more... )

It was always a good night when Frankie came to the bar ( Read more... )

The bartender got its power from burning some of the alcohol flowing through its thick arteries. Barteries, they were called. Right now, the bartender was relaxing and polishing the bar. Someone had put a tuxedo shirt and a handlebar moustache on it. It needed oil. Its elbow squeaked. It stank of exhaust ( Read more... )

With lost marbles over mixed drinks, I stare at the face reflected in the oak bar beside my highball. It looks more real to me, somehow, than I feel ( Read more... )

It’s a brave thing to keep on living. People look up to martyrs. Martyrs enjoy a sense of strength that comes, at the root, from the most extreme cowardice that exists. Being willing to die for a set of beliefs to the point where you force your opponent to take your life is idiocy ( Read more... )

There were three of them. A rangy, long-haired cowboy, his big brother, and a hot African woman. She probably would have been called a chick if it wasn’t for the fact that her stare was terrifying. Insults and catcalls died in the men’s throats with a glance. The two cowboys seemed affable enough but the shadows from the rims of their hats hid ( Read more... )