Earl felt the warmth of his extra hot coffee seep through the cup onto his hand as he leaned over the second story railing of the shopping mall and reflected on how many times he’d taken in this view over the years . . .
Tag: Mondays Are Murder
Galway City, late July—when dawn comes early—5am, only twenty minutes off. All was calm. All was bright. It reminded me of something . . .
Gardner finished dressing: jeans, his shoulder holster strapped on underneath his leather jacket. He’d started down the stairs when the buzzer sounded. Gripping his arm, the woman stopped him. “Don’t go out there.” . . .
I had warned Mikey Ronagan that sooner or later someone was going to shoot that cocky smile off his face, so I don’t know why I’m letting the image of his dead body ruin my moment today . . .
Bogota is shrouded in gray. Gray clouds. Gray streets. Gray rain . . .
I ran into Linda, unexpectedly, the other day at Publix. She used to be pretty, but in her late forties, she’s all bloat, veneers, and Oxy eyes . . .
He’s defunct again. Lying on the floor, screaming about helicopters and LSD experiments. The man-child in his underwear, spread-eagled, crying to the ceiling, maybe even to the outside woods if they’re listening . . .
New York was scruffier then; everywhere you saw signs of its humbling in its bald park lawns and strobe-popping Broadway head shops . . .