Jason Bendix had finished writing his new novella the evening before. It was the first mature work that he had written. For nearly three years he had been trying to find his voice and to whet all artifice from his sentences. Thirteen, fourteen stories had been his apprentice work. First, he had written stories of two or three thousand words each. Then, he had managed a few five-thousand-word beasts of burden. The three ten-thousand worders had been monstrosities which cost him dearly.
“The Lord has remembered”
This was the meaning of my name. Zachary.
Since retiring from the San Francisco Probation Department and relocating to Sarasota, Florida, I have been lunching with Roscoe Bennett in a pizzeria on Route 41. We don’t go there for the pizza, which tastes like warmed-up cardboard; we go for the happy hour and a generous choice of beers.
The forest of the gods of torn jaws? Sure, I know it. And it’s pretty easy to get to — once you’re out of Bismarck here, jump on the I-94 and head west. Drive to the sun.
You are not privy, as am I, to the trials that led to this suggestion from Leila Allison. Suffice it to say there is a cat in America who is cleaner than he was, and a cat bather who may stop bleeding soon. But, Leila’s trials are our rewards when she brings us, from the bowels of LS Towers this:
Well another week has come and gone in the usual seven days.
We have been inundated with submissions but not many success stories. Only one about a guy who won an even money shot at the dogs. He loved the dog in an inappropriate way. The dog died. It was one of the more acceptable romances. It was called, ‘I Need To Stop And Walk Round To Give You A Kiss.’
Tony carefully looked over his choices. Should I go with live bait or a lure? The sky is clear today. No cloud cover means the fish will be able to see me casting. A shiny yellow plunker will catch the sunlight and attract them, but a live minnow will attract their smell. All right, I’ll start with the plunker. Continue reading