A.G.E's Joint

Broken down buildings and junkies filled this part of Moreland Ave, one whose heyday was far in the past. A faded PBR sign became animated, beckoning him to stop. Have a drink and  forget your problems. Maybe pick up an American Woman for company. That was a lie. There would be no sugar tonight. Waking up with a headache didn’t interest him. Sarah was still dead.  A gold Cadillac with a sticker saying “In Memory of Darius, 1997-2008  was in front of him. Maybe he should put one of those on his car for Sarah? No. Can’t have the attention. He drove an anonymous metal lump. He tugged at his collar. God, it was hot. He shouldn’t have worn long sleeves. He flipped on the radio and rolled down his window . A song came on about being fine or closer to it. Another total lie. Nothing was ever fine. Mother’s whisky tinged voice began yelling in his ear. Talk to the lady. What she had to say may be bullshit, but validation and clarity in how to proceed was needed.  Nah. He was ...

Clickbait.   You know it. You've seen it.   http://www.nytimes.com/roomfordebat... It is the ultimate masquerade. An eye catching headline inducing an unintended left finger movement. Whether It is article, slideshow or video, it is what the Internet has devolved into, a series of empty calorie diversion that bloat the mind.    If you are a professional writer, you want those clicks to happen. Otherwise your lonely missives are lost in the ether. But like a slippery slope into an unending labyrinth, the process of creating them becomes an addiction for both writer and reader. A dark Gepetto pulling emotional strings for Pinocchio to react.    Instead of reading filling, uplifting poetry and stories, we slide down a rabbit hole of 10 worst this, unbelievable that and gross something or another. Oh, we might click on a cute kitten or puppy vid, but for the most part we lean toward the tawdry and sadistic, and it isn't eve...

As Murray left the small house, he thought to himself. The woman was an enigma. She would interesting to him if he had been single. The psychic crap never did much for him, but her energy was unmistakable. The interview went well enough. Ms. Walker described how Allen had called for an appointment. She had worked with him when he first got out of Georgia Regional, but it had been about a year since she had last seen him. She had some errands to run, so set the appointment for after dinner. She was finishing up her Moo Goo Gai Pan when he got there. She cleaned up and went out to meet him. From her earlier sessions, she knew he was schizophrenic.That wasn't uncommon among her clients. But th figure that met her had given pause. The face reminded her of Hercules after slaying the Hydra . His scent, sweat, exhaustion combined with the drivers of Hades, filled the room. The purpose of the meeting was to slow everything to focus, she knew that. Tea and small talk made him...

Blinding light … Intense heat flashed across her face as she turned toward the noise, a car splintering into pieces along with the people around it.  A body was hurled into the tree… The dull thud of impact woke her, sweat pouring from her face. The deep red sunrise peeked through the gray slatted blinds. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sandy ran her fingernails along the damp fabric of her nightgown and tried to breathe normally. This one was more than vivid, she was THERE. The images were worrisome. In all the years she had been working the Psychic gig, dreams this intense usually were triggered by someone outside of her There had only been the one client, Jeremy. He truly was dangerous. Obsessed with his enemies and hell bent on revenge.  The Zima she had after seeing him wouldn’t have done it, since she didn’t chase it with any Xanax. She had learned that moderation in all things made the next morning a lot more pleasant. Using a floral hankie to...