I called up Carmine. He had given me the number to the bar I could reach him in northern Ontario.

“Carmine,” I said. “The paper said that this was the last day. The last day for dying,” I said. Had it been a month already? Had it been a full thirty days of death?

“That’s the numbers, Billy.” Carmine always knew ( Read more... )

Clint Dossier here again folks, and let me tell you, this past week or so has been truly, truly, sir, truly astounding. Down here in Charleston, being Charlestonian and all, well, things are usually very fine, and very stable.

Except, of course, sir. Except when northerners decide to come down and invade.

I was walking along the beach again sir, ( Read more... )

            ”Cocksucker,” the cellphone said to me, “where the hell have you been?”

“I’ve been out here,” I said, “I’ve been looking for a good time.”

”Good time, will we?” the acrid voice on my cellphone ear piece said. I heard him chew on some leaves. It sounded like a handful of leaves. Spiritual secretly grew an herb ( Read more... )

This is Clint Dossier again, and I must tell you, walking along the beach during the summer time is something to behold. As a prominent ethno botanist, I find myself observing things with what a colleague out in California called; “scientific glasses.”

Shucks. Well, I was walking along the great spance of lowtide, right along where Isle of Palms is ( Read more... )

Down at the Flying J; Cleb, alcoholic, kept interrupting the meeting.

“My names Cleb, alcoholic,” he’d say.

Or he’d say: “that’s what I mean,” and interrupt whoever was talking. Right now it was Mary P., real alcoholic, and she was telling about cleaning up her side of the street.

Cleb would just interrupt.

The Flying J was a meeting in a truck ( Read more... )

            “I hate pressure washers,” Spiritual said to me. I was making him clean my deck.

“Why’s that?”

The question was mundane. Anyone who had read any psychology book at any old community college would know it had something to do with childhood. Childhood, it always comes back.

“My fuckin’ brother,” he said ( Read more... )

            “No cocksucker, I want the MIG welder too,” Spiritual said to his brother. Spiritual was in town, visiting, and we decided to drive out to the outlands. Out where the aquifer is infused with waste from the old war head plant.

The government had to build a treatment facility just to filter some of the more concentrated molecules out ( Read more... )

            “Hey,” this one guy in an SUV said, “your gown looks weird.”

Spiritual and I were walking to a parking lot area from my graduation ceremony. I had only decided to go to the ceremony the night before, and didn’t feel like paying the $26.75 for the one time use cap and gown from the exorbitant bookstore. You would think Greeks ( Read more... )

            “An Ekranoplan?” I said. “What the fuck is an Ekranoplan?”

“An Ekranoplan is a Caspian Sea Monster. A wing in ground effect vehicle. It was designed by the Russians during the Cold War,” Spiritual said to me.

We were having Some Coffee and a Few Laughs near a picnic table outside the hospitality room at The Kings Island ( Read more... )

            “You wanna play some Frisbee golf?” Spiritual asked me. We had just spent the afternoon drinking espresso. Having a few laughs. We had talked about some old memories. Some good times, from back in the day.

“Not right now Spiritual,” I said.

Something came over Spiritual. I think it was the espresso. It’s all ( Read more... )