A.G.E's Joint

I stopped by the bar at 3 A. M. To seek solace in a bottle or possibly a friend I woke up with a headache like my head against a board Twice as cloudy as I'd been the night before I went in seeking clarity. Jeremy really didn’t like this song, but he was too distracted to turn the radio off. Streetlights stretching out forever in front of his eyes as he headed into the city, why he was coming back here? Smoky dives along Memorial, with their faded PBR and Miller High Life signs beckoned him to stop for solace and possibly a friend. Yeah, a friend that would scream about bombs until he had to make her stop. Like he did with Mother.   That was not a risk he could take. He couldn’t stop anyway.   A quiet voice was urging him on, one that needed to be heard. He knew whose voice it was. It was going to say bullshit. But there would be validation of his thoughts and the comfort in the crap, and some clarification in exactly how to proceed. So he followed t...

“Yeah…It wasn’t a pretty scene…Channel 5 was there, but I let the PIO handle that…Yeah, that annoying bitch…anyway, it doesn’t look like I’ll make it home for dinner…guessing about 10…Yeah, I know…I love ya...Bye.” As he clicked off, he realized how much he hated making that call. It was like the death notifications, painful. The death of dinner and lost family time made him sad. He had to admit, she was one patient woman.   For 28 years, she was always there, whether with a cold drink or a good ear when a particular case was bugging him never needing details, only the sound of his voice.   She really was his dream lady. For all of the offers from hookers and coworkers he would get, Carol was more than enough for him. She was his serenity; hours spent cuddling on the couch in their little autumn of old .   He sure could use that now.    Sunlight glinting off the roof of the guard shack blinded him. Flipping down the visor, he rolled down the win...

So, what to do? Moon slanting through the kitchen window, Jeremy had his notebook, a bottle of Cutty, and bemused smirk. Taking a slug from the bottle, he turned a page and assessed all that happened. On the good side, the trip to farm far exceeded expectations. Watching the stump evaporate as exciting and he was ready to do it again. He guessed it was like it the first time for sex or something.   At least that was somebody told him it was like, an explosion.   He never felt any explosions. He’d never had sex with anyone, he didn’t think. Nobody ever got that close. The bombs were a good substitute. He could screw those who screwed him from afar and not getting of the mess on him. The size of the device was set. 24”X 1 ½”. It produced enough of a blast to affect those within 50 feet. There was still the matter of additional shrapnel. He was leaning toward 8 penny finishing nails, maybe with some washers and nuts of similar size. They were small enou...