Steve B. Howard's Blog, page 151

Yep, I just put a collection of short stories, most of which are also locked stories on Medium, on…

Yep, I just put a collection of short stories, most of which are also locked stories on Medium, on Draft2Digital. I’m waiting for it to be released by a few more booksellers before I post an announcement on Medium.

Ha ha, Nagoya Castle is near my house.

Ha ha, Nagoya Castle is near my house. There’s a park built around it, but there are also 7–11’s, condo’s, and a Starbucks. Old meets the new I guess.

dead samuraiCastle7–11, park

dead samurai
Castle
7–11, park

Thanks so much for adding as a writer to RP. I will submit my poem today.

Thanks so much for adding as a writer to RP. I will submit my poem today.

Hi Meg, I would love to write for RP. Here is a draft of one of my poems. Hope you like it.

Hi Meg, I would love to write for RP. Here is a draft of one of my poems. Hope you like it.

https://medium.com/p/823217fbf8a9/edit

Keep Me From the Depths

“shade photo of woman” by Callie Gibson on Unsplash

I’ve seen plenty of homeless people before. Some of them I have even become friends with, in a “Hi, how are ya, here’s some change,” sort of way. But this one standing with his back against a brick building in downtown Eugene spooked me. He wasn’t large or menacing. He was even relatively well kept. But when I made eye contact to offer him some change, well, his stare stopped me cold and I just kept walking.

eyes that have been insane
for a long long time
scare me to the quick

Keep Me From the Depths was originally published in The Junction on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Yep, that sounds familiar.

Yep, that sounds familiar. My son is eight and I think he has similar stories running through his head too.

Brutal Are the Streets My Brother

“gray concrete with quotes on pavement” by George Kourounis on Unsplash

Jesus, you fuck, Benny, Bogey thought. You had to just up and die on me here in this shit hole.

He pulled the dirty sheet over Benny’s stiff body, leaving his blue feet exposed. Rotting garbage, abandoned clothes, busted beer bottles, and moldy newspapers filed the old building. He sat on top of a dark blue milk cartoon facing his friend’s dead body. The morning sun was just rising blood-red through the bluish haze coming off the freeway. The squat they’d been living in for the past two weeks was a derelict office building just south of Oakland. The Mexican Brown was surprisingly cheap despite being a long way away from the border.

Too cheap, he thought rubbing his arm. Probably cut Benny’s last dime bag with 70% strychnine.

He rummaged around in the pockets of his faded Army jacket. He pulled out a bent spoon, a tiny empty white plastic bag, a lighter and three-quarters of a cigarette. He tasted the inside of the bag to take the edge off and then light the cigarette. He ran the flame from the lighter over the scars on his left forearm. The patch of needle ravaged skin was almost completely numb now.

But we had some times, didn’t we? How long since we had our band Benny, what was it called The Joy Bop Slop? It was supposed to be about the music. We were going to be rock stars. Can’t believe we were only fourteen years old back then. Now you’re dead. Twenty-two. Shit man.

Bogey rubbed the hard stubble on his sore jaw. Had a great smile back in the day. Almost all of my teeth are gone now. Hair too.

A pile of trash rustled behind him and Bogey turned quick. He saw a long pink tail dart under some newspapers.

“Yeah, the rats man. I don’t want to do this, but you know what rats will do to a dead body. Can’t help it. Gotta do it,” he said through tears. “Remember what old Vinnie use to say to us when we were inside for that two-year stretch? Always burn the fucking body. It takes the cops longer to investigate it and you can get out of town. I can’t risk sweating out the junk in County Benny. You’ve been there before. You know what it’s like.”

From his battered leather wallet, he unfolded a faded old photograph. Two young boys stood smiling outside in a parking lot of a sunlight Hollywood studio. Tossing it onto Benny’s body he took a long pull on the cigarette until the end glowed red. And then turning to go without looking back he flicked it onto the body. The fire had eaten up the east wall and ceiling by the time he hopped a train heading south towards Tijuana.

Brutal Are the Streets My Brother was originally published in Lit Up on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I should mention though that I really appreciate the publications that respond really fast.

I should mention though that I really appreciate the publications that respond really fast. There are a few of them that have actually published my stuff within a day of my submitting them.

Took your advice. My new profile description reads:

Took your advice. My new profile description reads:

I’m a spewer of sometimes interesting sounding gibberish, a semi-pro comedian, and a teacher in Japan.