A.G.E's Joint

  The siren seemed distant. An older Mercedes with the plate KBL 1765 was in front of us.  "Hey, Sweetie. I'm going to lose this Charzard." She said with a grin.  Swerving to the right, the tires on the Pontiac started squealing on the set pavement. She was serious about getting away. A quick flash. The motorcycle smacked the driver's side with a loud thump. The car the windshield cracked and grass filled my mouth. Everything was quiet. I turned my head towards her. Blood was pouring down her face.  "Are you mine? The sound was garbled and choked. It wasn't clear whether it came from me or her.  "Maybe." Came the reply. "It's all a whispered dream, anyway." Two men came up to the driver's side window. Everything went black. 

Reveille sounded across base.  Mike drug himself out of his bunk and blindly put on fatigues.  It was a short day, only PT this morning , then on leave until Monday. Sarge's  voice droned as he went through the routine:  50 pushups, 50 crunches, Jumping Jacks. Thoughts of Susan,  the girl he met the other day at the NCO were drifting in his head. Long brown hair and sweet smell filled his mind. She stayed in a dorm at the local college. Not only had he gotten her number, she had agreed to a picnic.  Mike's mind wasn't on task as he stumbled through the obstacle course. There was a scream in his ear.He shrugged it off. He was just another GI trying to get through this assignment and on to the next one.  An hour and a half later, he was done and headed towards the barracks. A quick shower and change into civvies. With a wave to the guard, he pointed the Mini into town. He drove up to the parking gate.The guard looked at him warilyas he buzzed him through...

The diner could have been anywhere. This one was found while driving around East Jesus, New York. At least that's what this town seemed like to her. Thirty miles to go on the road trip from Hell. Traffic had been light on the overnight run.  Hot coffee wouldn’t hurt. Crossing the border during the busy part of the day was her plan, the guards wouldn’t ask questions. Debbie stumbled out of the car, dragging food wrappers along the way. The place was like the scarier areas in the desert, except colder. The parking lot was almost empty. A puddle reflected the snow-laden sky and the motel vacancy sign. Shivering, she pulled her jacket tighter and stepped in the door. Pink and white decorations dotted the counters, the remains of a Valentine party the night before. An ancient Wurlitzer  jukebox played caterwauling country tunes. Bacon, and the promise of more, tickled her nose. A big-haired waitress chewing gum nodded toward a line of stools against the front window. She went t...

Angela’s stomach was a giant knot as she rushed into the Ladies Room. One of the desk girls was at the counter and waved as she stepped into the stall. There wasn’t time to wave back. It was a race what would hit the floor first. The panties won, fortunately. Finishing quickly, she found the girl gone when she came out. Good. She wasn’t in the mood for chit-chat. Looking into the mirror, she undid the pony tail. The air conditioning was out again and she needed airing out. The cool air was refreshing as the curls fluffed out. It had been such a long day and it wasn’t over. As she gathered everything back into the band, she noticed a gray hair. Hmm...Maybe she should take a couple of days off. Do a spa trip. Yeah...Maybe when she retires. The meeting had been a waste. Lieutenant Nowhere and his “all inclusive” style made her want to scream. The case wasn’t hers and she needed to work on the missing girl. Six months of these nowhere plans and not once did it help a case. Just ...

It was one of the older beach shacks, a weathered gray stack of sticks sitting squat on the bluff near the inlet, four rooms and a screed porch overlooking the ocean. The white Adirondack contrasted with the dark green paint of the screened in porch. A man, the picture of moral desolation, sat in the chair looking over the churning water. Seaside sounds quieted his rage and focused his thoughts. It was gracious of Jack to let him stay at the beach house. They had their differences over the years; the respect for the man was always there. Guilt and shame have a way to loosen these kinds of favors. It wasn’t every day your daughter twists the knife into her ex and made you pay for it.    Atlanta to Kiawah had passed through his mind in a blur of tears. A case of Wild Turkey had been liberated from the reception, another case of a friend looking the other way. Somehow, he kept it between the lines and the State Patrol was none the wiser. A case and a half was left...

I live in Atlanta. Kroger has been part of this community for many, many years. But some stores are better known than the others. Here is a definitive list.... Atlanta Krogers Well, one of them is about to fall to the wayside. The Murder Kroger (so named because there have been three deaths in their parking lot) is being replaced by a brutalist twelve story glass structure. Oh, they are going to put new small format Kroger in the lobby, but it won't be the same without the shooting gallery parking lot. Paradise must be paved. Edit... It's official. Death of Murder Kroger

Hello. I’m Norm Abrams, and welcome to The New Yankee Workshop. This season, we have been featuring projects dealing with problems commonly found by professional woodworkers and cabinet makers.   One of those problems is delinquent accounts. Cash flow is important with small businesses like custom millwork shops. It is vital that you get paid on time so that you can move on to the next project. We asked our viewers to come up with suggestions that would help alleviate this pressing problem.   One, a Mr. Anthony Soprano, of Elizabeth, NJ, has come up with a very novel method to take care of this irritating mess, this beautiful cherry wood hope chest.    Mr.   Soprano writes: “I run a medium sized shop, BadaBing Customs here in Elizabeth, and we were always having issues with slow paying accounts. My prior attempts to clean up the receivables failed miserably until I saw this box in the car repair business next door. After speaking with Ducks, ...

A hot, humid day in Savannah and a working girl is found dead on one of the squares. It is a show killing meant to terrify and confuse and it grabs your attention. This book hits the ground running and doesn't stop until the finish line. This is the third book in the Elise Sandberg series and like the others, the moss draped city of Savannah stands out as a willing accomplice. Well worth your time. <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24833794-pretty-dead" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img alt="Pretty Dead" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1432756814m/24833794.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24833794-pretty-dead">Pretty Dead</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4327517.Anne_Frasier">Anne Frasier</a><br/> <br /><br /> <br/><br/> <a href="https://www.g...

Moonlight fell over the yard. It reflected in the green eyes that followed Jeremy as he climbed the steps. The tuxedo coat was slightly raised in alarm. His hand reached out to scratch on the ears, but the cat bolted into the brush alongside the house. That’s right run. Just like those fools will when I get finished with this.  Dodging metal and plastic debris as he headed to the kitchen, he thought maybe a little music for the background? A box marked “For the Solstice ” sat with a dust coating over the top. Jeremy’s curiosity got the best of him. He opened and found a large number of compact discs laid out in neat rows. ”The spirits must really be with me”, he thought.   Frowning to himself as he picked through the pile, he wasn’t finding the one song for the work. Title’s like “ Equinox ” and “Night of the Living Dregs” didn’t resonate with him. They were just so much noise, in his book. The he saw the old Chicago album. Yes, that was it. He remembered so...

Without a word, the bartender put the drink next to his hand. The 3 sheets was quiet this time of night. It was getting close to last call and all rowdy yuppies had either paired off or passed out on the bar. Not drunk enough to shake off the rage, he was finding it hard to focus. He chugged the scotch without thinking.   A sharp pain followed. With a curse, he pulled the stirrer away from his eye dabbed his face with the bar napkin.   The offending alcoholic droplets remaining were spared from going into his eyes. Two blond heads were nodding and arguing over the latest sex offender stats on the screen over the bar. They tried to one up themselves on what the best method to deal with this “crisis”. One championed longer prison terms. The other was touting a medical treatment that would cause the prisoner to collapse like a myotonic goat was upon arousal. Kind of a reverse Viagra, with everything deflating as one part inflates.    A smirk crossed Je...