Growing passion!

My passion’s growing!

It’s amazing what a little kickstart can do, and I’m currently halfway through the first book of my pet project (the one before the travel guide). This ebook is part of a series of ebooks and it’s a collection of short stories. I can’t really say if the book’s for adults or young adults or teens, but there’s no sex in it. (Did I hear a cohesive groan from you lot??)

Of course, with my current interest piquing at an all-time high, I tend to get carried away with ideas. Lofty, lofty ideas. Which is fine, until it comes to tying things down. It’s hard to tie up riders of the clouds when they are already floating, right?

Anyway, here’s a sneak peek of one of the short stories in the book to be launched next week on Amazon and Smashwords! Any feedback is welcomed!


Stink Eye
They hate me. My looks, where I live, what I drink, what I do – they despise me. I can feel it. These judgmental fools; they don’t know where I’ve been, what I’ve done and what I’m capable of. I could go berserk if I wanted to but I’m past that. And I don’t want any trouble. So far life has been very easy. The routine is peaceful. The meals are regular most days and that’s good enough for me. If you knew where I came from, you’ll know I ask for very little from life.

That woman in yellow. I loathe her as much as they hate me. They have every reason to, since I’m always on the sidewalk, living the life. I don’t have to rush to work like they do. I have no children to tend to, and no family to worry about. Yet I get clothes, food, the occasional shower and I can sleep anywhere I like. So yes, they can hate me for my life now, because I earned it. But not her, she has no rights to give me the damn stink eye. Just who does she think she is?

I’ll think about what to do with her, but not now. It’s a hot day today, and I need shade.

Richie looked for a shady spot – a place where the human traffic is high and he’s visible enough for them to notice, yet somewhere shaded from the heat. There’s Torrnia’s Café by the walkway. Great spot, but the bloody waiter shooed him away countless times before. Once, he spat on the waiter and they got into a scuffle. Since then Richie stayed clear of Torrnia’s. There’s the bench by the tree, but that’s taken by one-eyed Joe. It’s his turf and the man deserves respect. This bloody country doesn’t remember the good men.

Maybe this pathetic spot will do fine. By the junction, and if I shift with the shadow of the mailbox, I should be able to take the heat off my back. This country owes me. Hell, I broke my back, tore my calf in half and broke an ankle. All in the name of helping the country. But they don’t remember me for that. Got done in 6 weeks for helping a little lost girl. They said I was going to steal her from her mother in the supermarket. Heck, if I wanted to steal, I’d grab food, not the little girl. What was I to do with a whiny little girl? And it was then they cut whatever little I got from the company. Bloody opportunists, if you ask me. So I couldn’t paid rent, couldn’t get treatment, the leg couldn’t work and here I am begging on the streets. This place really doesn’t care.

Richie sat at his spot for hours. Passers-by dropped some dimes into his hat. If he was lucky, he’d get enough for a refill. So far this flask has gotten itself filled and drained almost daily. Except for that one stretch during the storm a year back. He had to go sober for about a week, longest time he’s ever been clear since god knows when. Food isn’t a problem with Richie – some diners and old lady Pattison were always kind enough to give him food and water. He could save up for some clothes or other necessities for tougher times, but that was the Richie before.

There she is again. At the beauty shop. Look at her – arrogant, bold, and beautiful. Maybe I hate her because she reminded me so much of the missus. The one I married, the one I left for Vietnam, the one who left me when I was in Vietnam. Never heard from her since and never tried to. Forty three years. Why she left, I never knew, but probably another man. Definitely another man. Who in their right mind would wait for someone who might not come back? I wouldn’t, so it’s not her fault. No, she left me. I have got to get back at her for leaving me.

Next week. I’ll think of something.





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