They put handcuffs on his wrists. Hooked right to the table at which he sat. The dopes. Stuck to the fantasy of control. Something that had been gone long before we found him. They clung to nothing. He just played along. The man in the chair. Whoever he was.

Last Trip

At 6:35am, he had his first beer. First cigarette at 6:41. He had met someone. The night before. Not intending too. Which might be why it bounced so heavily about his mind.

Gut Feeling

It was the sort of silence that makes any sound seem louder. Clear crackle. Pop. As the flame danced. Excited in moments, subdued in others. The timid and occasional breeze swayed the amber this way and that, while the smoke staggered its way upwards. His mind was elsewhere as Jim went on with his story….

Thousand Dollar Boxes

It was a bad idea. A fool’s errand. A sign of our growing complacency. All ego. We should not have gone that far in. Should have just stayed home. But we didn’t. Everything near the outskirts was scrapped. Nothing much left close to the river. Anything else of value gone for about ten blocks in…