A.G.E's Joint

Bam. Breathe in, gotta breathe out. Pressed the detonator again, nothing.  Breathe in….Breathe out… Bam Splinters as the door exploded inward… ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The bartender came up said the ride was here; did you want to finish the drink? Yea, one more sip. Need one more sip. Slipping and sliding into oblivion.  The paring knife appeared, slashing wildly. Fire began just under his right hand and moved upward. Something wet and sticky landed across his face.  He sees Charon sitting at the helm at the Styx, waiting for his passengers. Scaled harpies kept pulling him toward the depths. Sirens with voices like perfume sang sweetly, beckoning him further toward the boat. Jeremy could see the Angels stitched into the sails, their mouths moving with the breeze.  “I’m your ride, leave your burdens down.” Sarah!  The Scarlet aperture closing along the edge of his visi

This is it. I found it. I’m in Hell,   Herrington thought. The press briefing made him a man condemned. The armchair firing squad was waiting to begin the analysis in earnest. How did Allen get this far? Was this the only road to take or was there one less traveled ?   Was it because of the full moon ?   Questions with no answers, but they still will be asked.  Allen was white, and this was good thing. The professional gadflies wouldn’t have anything to use and the furor over the outcome would be able to die quicker. In fact, most of the useful idiots would just say good riddance. That was a cold thought, though. This was certainly a troubled young man, probably irretrievably broken, but still a living, breathing person.  With a whistle, he motioned everyone back behind the Bomb Squad truck. Alfred the Robot was still at the car, animatronic arm suspended mid grab. It was determined the device was a real pipe bomb, but for some reason unarmed. As such, it could stay ins

“Oh, Holy Father.   Grant me peace as I go to my hour of triumph. Amen.” He repeated the prayer as the huge gray truck trundled down the hill, moaning and gasping like a bull in full throws with a heifer. My, how the fiesta has grown.   Aircraft droned overhead like Nicodemus in his tree. Even Pilate was on the pavement waiting for him. Only thing missing was the cross itself. Only there won’t be any impalement except by flying shrapnel. Isn’t that lovely? The media machine won’t be denied. He could sense the clamoring for the public death. But the death won’t be televised, because this cave will be where it will go down.  “Oh, Holy Father.   Grant me peace as I go to my hour of triumph. Amen.” A poker game, this has turned into a winner take all poker game. He sat on one side of the table and the pigs on the other, waiting for the deal from the unseen dealer. The luck of the draw was the true meaning of life. It was all a game. The Pigs dealt from a stacke

The sign on the Holiday Rd said Kai-Chung Enterprises in blue and yellow script. It was a import-export company catering to the Asian restaurant trade. At least it used to be. Holes and cracks littered the faded plastic. The rust of neglect was everywhere. The red eviction notice swung tattered and lonely on the glass front door, owners lost in the breeze of time. Remains of box trucks covered in Chinese and English script were scattered like abandoned toys. It was a casualty of the recession and greed, another empty shell waiting for another occupant.  Jackson and the Canine Units drove into the parking lot and went to  the back of the building to unload. It took a few minutes, but Jackson remembered where he was. The building housed the office supply company he worked for in high school and college. The owner, Mr. Shapiro, an older Jewish guy, was the third generation of the family to run it. He was fine as far as white folks went, always speaking respectfully and letting