Peter Prasad's Blog: Expletives Deleted - Posts Tagged "series"
Gurl-Posse Kidnap: How to open a book
I like fast paced plots with an afterjet ending for my crime thrillers. 'Cept my dainty readers want to know character, back story and how'd he get so bent. So I wrote a new opening that reads like this:
After Thanksgiving when new wine rests on the lees at bubbling ferment, family secrets tumble out in a drenching rain, blind to who gets hurt. A drug deal unravels into murder, kidnap and redemption as PI Jake Knight helps his client see the light.
CHAPTER 1
Jake settled on a stool with one boot atop the rail. He twisted to ease the ache at his beltline where a bullet scored a divot weeks earlier. Tanya sailed by, smelling like angel cake, and set down a glass of ice-water by him. He smiled. She smiled. Ever observant, she hovered an inch away from out of reach. “For your veins?” she teased.
She returned with his dinner on an oval plate. A barricade of crisp garlic fries restrained succulent juices. With knife and fork he carved into the roast beef mounded on toasted sourdough. The odor steamed up his sinuses, cleared the rain and damp from his thoughts and warmed his heart. She laughed all the way back to his elbow with a cloth napkin. He’d have felt less vulnerable had he known she delighted in the pure nurture of her man.
A quarter hit the juke box and rolled down memory lane. Dolly Parton’s voice sidled up to the guy one stool down, keen to squeeze lost love from his chill IPA. After a respectful pause for heartache, Tanya rolled another quarter Jake’s way. It was spackled with chips of red nail polish, round like a bullet hole. He punched up a classic by a local boy. Horns kicked the sky higher and bounced off a base line with a boogie beat. Huey Lewis let loose, “You don’t need no credit card to ride this train. The power of love…”
Her green eyes vaporized his heart and her shoulders shimmied with approval. His throat knotted. He wanted to clear the verbal logjam by whispering in her ear on a pillow bound for far away. A heartbeat later, Dolly’s ornery soul mate wiped a labored hand over his rough stubble, tapped his glass to signal refill and tapped Jake’s glass too. Tanya nodded and turned to the draft beer tap. “What a crock,” the guy muttered. “That singer is too drunk on what nobody serves no more.” Jake winked at Tanya and saw pure gold ore.
Once a skinny rail with pony tails, orchid tattoos now bloomed from her elbow to her sleeveless top. She’d rounded into all he held dear, his touchstone of sanity with a hint of flint. That put her at the top of his Christmas list, underlined and circled twice. And he had no idea what might express all that she deserved.
He glanced at her emerald eyes, a sparkle he’d searched the world for and only found in her. She pulled away, tawny hair tied to the side, her grin quivered into throaty chuckles, not quite a giggle. Jake laughed at himself, captivated. She floated back with a draft IPA. She stretched, looked at Jake and did the oddest thing with the tip of her tongue. He imagined a lynx on a tree limb over a game trail. He longed to be king of her jungle, oh Jesus please.
After Thanksgiving when new wine rests on the lees at bubbling ferment, family secrets tumble out in a drenching rain, blind to who gets hurt. A drug deal unravels into murder, kidnap and redemption as PI Jake Knight helps his client see the light.
CHAPTER 1
Jake settled on a stool with one boot atop the rail. He twisted to ease the ache at his beltline where a bullet scored a divot weeks earlier. Tanya sailed by, smelling like angel cake, and set down a glass of ice-water by him. He smiled. She smiled. Ever observant, she hovered an inch away from out of reach. “For your veins?” she teased.
She returned with his dinner on an oval plate. A barricade of crisp garlic fries restrained succulent juices. With knife and fork he carved into the roast beef mounded on toasted sourdough. The odor steamed up his sinuses, cleared the rain and damp from his thoughts and warmed his heart. She laughed all the way back to his elbow with a cloth napkin. He’d have felt less vulnerable had he known she delighted in the pure nurture of her man.
A quarter hit the juke box and rolled down memory lane. Dolly Parton’s voice sidled up to the guy one stool down, keen to squeeze lost love from his chill IPA. After a respectful pause for heartache, Tanya rolled another quarter Jake’s way. It was spackled with chips of red nail polish, round like a bullet hole. He punched up a classic by a local boy. Horns kicked the sky higher and bounced off a base line with a boogie beat. Huey Lewis let loose, “You don’t need no credit card to ride this train. The power of love…”
Her green eyes vaporized his heart and her shoulders shimmied with approval. His throat knotted. He wanted to clear the verbal logjam by whispering in her ear on a pillow bound for far away. A heartbeat later, Dolly’s ornery soul mate wiped a labored hand over his rough stubble, tapped his glass to signal refill and tapped Jake’s glass too. Tanya nodded and turned to the draft beer tap. “What a crock,” the guy muttered. “That singer is too drunk on what nobody serves no more.” Jake winked at Tanya and saw pure gold ore.
Once a skinny rail with pony tails, orchid tattoos now bloomed from her elbow to her sleeveless top. She’d rounded into all he held dear, his touchstone of sanity with a hint of flint. That put her at the top of his Christmas list, underlined and circled twice. And he had no idea what might express all that she deserved.
He glanced at her emerald eyes, a sparkle he’d searched the world for and only found in her. She pulled away, tawny hair tied to the side, her grin quivered into throaty chuckles, not quite a giggle. Jake laughed at himself, captivated. She floated back with a draft IPA. She stretched, looked at Jake and did the oddest thing with the tip of her tongue. He imagined a lynx on a tree limb over a game trail. He longed to be king of her jungle, oh Jesus please.
GURL-POSSE: 5-STARS
I'm in a Goodreads review group. I read and review four; four read and review my latest. So you bet I was over the moon when I read the following. Mission Control, after a nine month incubation, we have orbit. Sambogakaya!
I'm blown away! Mr. Prasad had me engaged from the first pages of this Book! I enjoyed it so much, I skipped right past the excerpt for Book 2, because I want to read it fresh, to see what Jake the P.I. is going to take on next. This book is like one of those multi-layered cream and berry torte's that sit in the window of a bakery in Paris.
The story is allowed to unfold slowly, to introduce you to Jake, a military veteran, and recent local boy turned state hero. He owns a farm that raises sheep, and he rents part of his homestead to people who use his milk production to make cheese. His newest job is as a private investigator in a company also run by an Ex Military man.
The care with editing, proofing, researching and the tightness of the story line is very evident from the beginning, until the end. The team you praised at books end, I praise once more, I agree, Mr. Prasad, you should let your Singapore artist continue producing your cover art, it draws the reader right in.
I highly recommend that you read this book if you like mysteries and thrillers. It has action, is gritty, and has a Native American twist that was just the right touch. I will be seeking out Book 2, it's a refreshing read. Mr. Prasad didn't employ gimmicks, giving this book a dimension that is reminiscent of mysteries you might see on a movie of the week, or TV series, where the action stays dressed, and is not a distraction from the story.
Gurl-Posse Kidnap is well worth 5 Stars, read it, and please leave him a review.
I'm blown away! Mr. Prasad had me engaged from the first pages of this Book! I enjoyed it so much, I skipped right past the excerpt for Book 2, because I want to read it fresh, to see what Jake the P.I. is going to take on next. This book is like one of those multi-layered cream and berry torte's that sit in the window of a bakery in Paris.
The story is allowed to unfold slowly, to introduce you to Jake, a military veteran, and recent local boy turned state hero. He owns a farm that raises sheep, and he rents part of his homestead to people who use his milk production to make cheese. His newest job is as a private investigator in a company also run by an Ex Military man.
The care with editing, proofing, researching and the tightness of the story line is very evident from the beginning, until the end. The team you praised at books end, I praise once more, I agree, Mr. Prasad, you should let your Singapore artist continue producing your cover art, it draws the reader right in.
I highly recommend that you read this book if you like mysteries and thrillers. It has action, is gritty, and has a Native American twist that was just the right touch. I will be seeking out Book 2, it's a refreshing read. Mr. Prasad didn't employ gimmicks, giving this book a dimension that is reminiscent of mysteries you might see on a movie of the week, or TV series, where the action stays dressed, and is not a distraction from the story.
Gurl-Posse Kidnap is well worth 5 Stars, read it, and please leave him a review.
GUT-CHECK GREEN Cli-Fi Thriller, chapter one
GUT-CHECK GREEN by Peter Prasad
A climate fiction thriller of vigilante justice. “This is Gut-Check Green, the defenders of Mother Nature, checking in. Dirt-ball corporations: we rank them, spank them and prank them. Lasso makes poison and now you’re all going to die. Remember to love your planet. This is Gut-Check Green, checking out.”
SET-UP: P.I. Jake Knight goes undercover to chase a vicious group of killers, skilled at evading a terrorist task force. With a raid on a corporate wine dinner, they launch a chain of events with world-rattling repercussions. Only Jake can bring them to justice, but first he must face a ruthless killer, the Pencil Man. As Jake closes in, he discovers the shocking secrets that make these terrorists so desperate. Does their message have truth or is it all madness? Guilty, yes, but sacrificial lambs, maybe, too?
Enjoy a controversial, fast-paced thriller set in the heart of California wine country. Gut-Check Green dances with diabolic characters and an action-packed plot to explore the future of our food supply. It raises disturbing questions about the drift toward over-dependence on GMOs. Here is a conspiracy so plausible it will rattle your dinner plate and change the way you sip chardonnay.
DEDICATION: I love those who can smile in trouble, who can gather strength from distress, and grow brave by reflection. It is the business of little minds to shrink, but they whose hearts are firm, and whose conscience approves their conduct, will pursue their principles unto death. - Leonardo da Vinci
CHAPTER 1
Their dance with the Grim Reaper had arrived. After tonight, there’d be no turning back. Pencil, Lizard Bill and Brandy Wine huddled on the tattered bench seat of a smelly plumber’s van. Rain drops tattooed the windshield in an empty car park on Petrified Forest Road outside Calistoga, a hot springs resort town at the top of the Napa valley.
Pencil heard a motorcycle echo on the mountain road and paid it no attention. The heater roared but he shivered anyway. Dim light from the dash-mounted GPS guided his hand into a bag at his feet. He peeled off the VA prescription label and filled the syringe. Living with the effects of exposure to an Agent Orange dioxin was his permanent pain. He’d been within inhalation range of a dirty bomb sometime during his career for the red, white and blue, all off the record in lands far away. He injected the cocktail of anti-viral meds. He had so many cancers, he was metastasizing to a cold grave.
He bagged the meds and wiped his nose on the dirty sleeve of his blue overalls. His hands rarely stopped trembling. He longed for a pain killer, a skin pop of the Dilaudid, his favorite hydromorphone, but he denied himself. Tonight he had work to do.
“It’s about frickin’ time. Lasso Corporation is going down.” Brandy spoke from the driver’s seat with a fervent fire in her eyes and stared at her two soldiers. Her voice ratcheted to a war cry. “We’ll get the attention of the kids, the campuses, the future farmers and foodistas, and we can change the world.” She smacked the steering wheel and pushed her clenched fist toward her partners.
The rabid zeal in her voice embarrassed Pencil. He turned to face her, his ice-cold eyes catching every gesture. He’d heard it before in a dozen briefing rooms and war zones. It was stupid to go into battle with emotions over-amped. But Brandy gave the orders, and Pencil needed her. She was the mother of his craving, so he went along.
Her flushed cheeks glowed red; her bugged-out eyes animated a sad, drooping face. She chomped on a wad of gum. He guessed she was high on amphetamines, with a chaser of nicotine gum. She motor-mouthed her insecurities when she got like this. He knew she drew on a festering ache. This was personal for her.
“Last go for Lasso. Ready to raise the flag?” Brandy howled. She needed to hear them say it one more time. She had a habit of seeking reassurance every thirty minutes, despite being the smart one.
Pencil groaned and knew, for her, it was another kind of need. Brandy had never killed, but Pencil had, too many times. She identified targets and left the execution to him. Lizard was the PC whizz, the creative one, back-up for supply and logistics. It was Pencil who got the killing done. He leaned forward and tapped out a drum roll on the dashboard. He wanted to get his blood up. Every command-post jockey needed to hear her foot soldiers say ‘Oorah’.
“Do or die and maybe both,” Lizard chimed in and bumped fists with Brandy. His laughter turned into a hacking cough with a wheezy rumble deep in his chest. Pencil lived with that sound. He often debated with Lizard about who was sicker.
Pencil extended his fist to bump brotherhood. “I’m dead already,” he said. “Tonight decorates my tombstone.”
“So what if we’re all sick puppies,” Brandy said. “I refuse to let Lasso Corporation poison my planet.” Her jaw chain-sawed at the gum. Pencil cringed; it was like she was auditioning for a Rambo movie.
“Lasso’s wall of lies gets plowed under tonight.” Brandy bounced up and down in her seat like a demented juvenile. “I want to see a sweet harvest for these chemical monsters.” She was wound up higher than a soap box. Chemical monsters? Sure they were; Pencil had a grudge he could extend to any target at any time.
“College campuses will rise up. Society will hear us.” Brandy’s voice overcame the hum of the heater, the engine and the rain. Pencil was afraid to look. He suspected she might be foaming at the mouth. “We the people will know,” she screamed. “And a certain class of assholes goes on notice. Take responsibility for your products, or die. You can’t pump that poison any longer. We, the people, won’t stand for it.”
Pencil wondered if Brandy’s speech qualified as end of life counseling. It made her feel better, and she made him feel better, so what the hell. Then the flash of police lights splashed across the ratty interior and caught him unprepared.
Strobes of red, blue and white flooded through the vehicle in a rapid flicker that sickened him. He closed his eyes, pressed down on his stomach and exhaled slowly. No way could the cops have an alert out already, he thought. He’d stolen the plumber’s van off a job site that morning in San Jose, a hundred miles south, and changed license plates. It had to be routine, or worse, a curious rookie cursed with the helpfulness disease.
“Oh god, Pencil, deal with it,” Brandy shrieked. Her bravado evaporated. She slid down in her seat and moaned like a wounded animal. The flashing colors bounced off her golden locks. She looked wicked old, paste-white skin and sunken eyes. She folded under a chocolate colored party dress and clutched her legs to her chest. Pencil saw the toes of her red stiletto heels hang over the edge of her seat.
Lizard went all spastic, clutching Pencil’s arm, his hands bad with tremors. “I’m begging, bro. Time to do your thing.”
Pencil took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, pushing his pain away. “For fuck sake, get a grip, we haven’t started yet,” he said as he rolled down his sleeve and pried off Lizard’s hand.
“But it’s over if they catch us now,” Brandy wailed. She had burrowed into the frilly skirts of her taffeta gown. Hiked up on the seat, her skinny stork legs were bent at the knee, covered in sheer stockings with a pattern of chocolate hearts. She looked like the action end of a sex doll.
Pencil had an idea; the cop would go all fixated as soon as he looked in on her. Pencil pulled at Brandy’s knee to spread her legs. He pushed Lizard’s head down into the crotch of her panty hose. “Stay like that and don’t look up, no matter what,” he said.
Pencil popped his door open and slipped out, not letting it click shut. He heard the cop tap once on Brandy’s window. “Hey, you…” he commanded, then, sure enough, he went quiet. Lizard’s leg kicked at the dashboard as he twisted and pushed his face in deeper. The van started rocking gently. Pencil imagined the cop was getting an eye full. He wanted this trooper flustered and embarrassed.
Pencil snuck around the back, past the motorcycle with its lights flashing. He peered around the van to size up the trooper. In tall black boots and raingear, the patrolman watched the imagined action between Lizard and Brandy. The visor of his helmet was up. He was leaning in close and his breath steamed the window. He stared intently at what he thought was the climax of orgasm. Brandy must have figured it out, because she started to moan.
Pencil saw the cop was a few inches taller, so he allowed for that. With the flashing lights behind him, the cop wouldn’t see his face. He patted the pocket of his overalls for a number two lead pencil, long, yellow and sharp. He eased it out with his right hand and squeezed tight on the eraser end.
“Officer,” he hollered as he stepped out. “It’s my van. I’m right here. Just wandered away so my crew could have some hankie-do. You want my license and ID? I got it right here.” Pencil steamed forward, his left hand held out where the cop could see it.
He felt the tingle, the old familiar rush of adrenalin, the gas that gooses a killer’s spirit. He inhaled and moved forward, not too fast, closing the gap in three steps. “No worries,” he said. “Sorry to interrupt your evening. Pissing down tonight, hey?”
The cop jerked back and twisted away from the window. His pale face was blushing, his mouth open. He stopped licking his lips. Pencil saw the parade of lights splash off his teeth. The trooper raised a hand to shield his eyes. He held a club-like flashlight in his hand.
“You don’t want to be watching that kind of kinky love,” Pencil said with a chuckle. “It’ll rot your brain.”
DUE JUNE 20th to Celebrate Summer
A climate fiction thriller of vigilante justice. “This is Gut-Check Green, the defenders of Mother Nature, checking in. Dirt-ball corporations: we rank them, spank them and prank them. Lasso makes poison and now you’re all going to die. Remember to love your planet. This is Gut-Check Green, checking out.”
SET-UP: P.I. Jake Knight goes undercover to chase a vicious group of killers, skilled at evading a terrorist task force. With a raid on a corporate wine dinner, they launch a chain of events with world-rattling repercussions. Only Jake can bring them to justice, but first he must face a ruthless killer, the Pencil Man. As Jake closes in, he discovers the shocking secrets that make these terrorists so desperate. Does their message have truth or is it all madness? Guilty, yes, but sacrificial lambs, maybe, too?
Enjoy a controversial, fast-paced thriller set in the heart of California wine country. Gut-Check Green dances with diabolic characters and an action-packed plot to explore the future of our food supply. It raises disturbing questions about the drift toward over-dependence on GMOs. Here is a conspiracy so plausible it will rattle your dinner plate and change the way you sip chardonnay.
DEDICATION: I love those who can smile in trouble, who can gather strength from distress, and grow brave by reflection. It is the business of little minds to shrink, but they whose hearts are firm, and whose conscience approves their conduct, will pursue their principles unto death. - Leonardo da Vinci
CHAPTER 1
Their dance with the Grim Reaper had arrived. After tonight, there’d be no turning back. Pencil, Lizard Bill and Brandy Wine huddled on the tattered bench seat of a smelly plumber’s van. Rain drops tattooed the windshield in an empty car park on Petrified Forest Road outside Calistoga, a hot springs resort town at the top of the Napa valley.
Pencil heard a motorcycle echo on the mountain road and paid it no attention. The heater roared but he shivered anyway. Dim light from the dash-mounted GPS guided his hand into a bag at his feet. He peeled off the VA prescription label and filled the syringe. Living with the effects of exposure to an Agent Orange dioxin was his permanent pain. He’d been within inhalation range of a dirty bomb sometime during his career for the red, white and blue, all off the record in lands far away. He injected the cocktail of anti-viral meds. He had so many cancers, he was metastasizing to a cold grave.
He bagged the meds and wiped his nose on the dirty sleeve of his blue overalls. His hands rarely stopped trembling. He longed for a pain killer, a skin pop of the Dilaudid, his favorite hydromorphone, but he denied himself. Tonight he had work to do.
“It’s about frickin’ time. Lasso Corporation is going down.” Brandy spoke from the driver’s seat with a fervent fire in her eyes and stared at her two soldiers. Her voice ratcheted to a war cry. “We’ll get the attention of the kids, the campuses, the future farmers and foodistas, and we can change the world.” She smacked the steering wheel and pushed her clenched fist toward her partners.
The rabid zeal in her voice embarrassed Pencil. He turned to face her, his ice-cold eyes catching every gesture. He’d heard it before in a dozen briefing rooms and war zones. It was stupid to go into battle with emotions over-amped. But Brandy gave the orders, and Pencil needed her. She was the mother of his craving, so he went along.
Her flushed cheeks glowed red; her bugged-out eyes animated a sad, drooping face. She chomped on a wad of gum. He guessed she was high on amphetamines, with a chaser of nicotine gum. She motor-mouthed her insecurities when she got like this. He knew she drew on a festering ache. This was personal for her.
“Last go for Lasso. Ready to raise the flag?” Brandy howled. She needed to hear them say it one more time. She had a habit of seeking reassurance every thirty minutes, despite being the smart one.
Pencil groaned and knew, for her, it was another kind of need. Brandy had never killed, but Pencil had, too many times. She identified targets and left the execution to him. Lizard was the PC whizz, the creative one, back-up for supply and logistics. It was Pencil who got the killing done. He leaned forward and tapped out a drum roll on the dashboard. He wanted to get his blood up. Every command-post jockey needed to hear her foot soldiers say ‘Oorah’.
“Do or die and maybe both,” Lizard chimed in and bumped fists with Brandy. His laughter turned into a hacking cough with a wheezy rumble deep in his chest. Pencil lived with that sound. He often debated with Lizard about who was sicker.
Pencil extended his fist to bump brotherhood. “I’m dead already,” he said. “Tonight decorates my tombstone.”
“So what if we’re all sick puppies,” Brandy said. “I refuse to let Lasso Corporation poison my planet.” Her jaw chain-sawed at the gum. Pencil cringed; it was like she was auditioning for a Rambo movie.
“Lasso’s wall of lies gets plowed under tonight.” Brandy bounced up and down in her seat like a demented juvenile. “I want to see a sweet harvest for these chemical monsters.” She was wound up higher than a soap box. Chemical monsters? Sure they were; Pencil had a grudge he could extend to any target at any time.
“College campuses will rise up. Society will hear us.” Brandy’s voice overcame the hum of the heater, the engine and the rain. Pencil was afraid to look. He suspected she might be foaming at the mouth. “We the people will know,” she screamed. “And a certain class of assholes goes on notice. Take responsibility for your products, or die. You can’t pump that poison any longer. We, the people, won’t stand for it.”
Pencil wondered if Brandy’s speech qualified as end of life counseling. It made her feel better, and she made him feel better, so what the hell. Then the flash of police lights splashed across the ratty interior and caught him unprepared.
Strobes of red, blue and white flooded through the vehicle in a rapid flicker that sickened him. He closed his eyes, pressed down on his stomach and exhaled slowly. No way could the cops have an alert out already, he thought. He’d stolen the plumber’s van off a job site that morning in San Jose, a hundred miles south, and changed license plates. It had to be routine, or worse, a curious rookie cursed with the helpfulness disease.
“Oh god, Pencil, deal with it,” Brandy shrieked. Her bravado evaporated. She slid down in her seat and moaned like a wounded animal. The flashing colors bounced off her golden locks. She looked wicked old, paste-white skin and sunken eyes. She folded under a chocolate colored party dress and clutched her legs to her chest. Pencil saw the toes of her red stiletto heels hang over the edge of her seat.
Lizard went all spastic, clutching Pencil’s arm, his hands bad with tremors. “I’m begging, bro. Time to do your thing.”
Pencil took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, pushing his pain away. “For fuck sake, get a grip, we haven’t started yet,” he said as he rolled down his sleeve and pried off Lizard’s hand.
“But it’s over if they catch us now,” Brandy wailed. She had burrowed into the frilly skirts of her taffeta gown. Hiked up on the seat, her skinny stork legs were bent at the knee, covered in sheer stockings with a pattern of chocolate hearts. She looked like the action end of a sex doll.
Pencil had an idea; the cop would go all fixated as soon as he looked in on her. Pencil pulled at Brandy’s knee to spread her legs. He pushed Lizard’s head down into the crotch of her panty hose. “Stay like that and don’t look up, no matter what,” he said.
Pencil popped his door open and slipped out, not letting it click shut. He heard the cop tap once on Brandy’s window. “Hey, you…” he commanded, then, sure enough, he went quiet. Lizard’s leg kicked at the dashboard as he twisted and pushed his face in deeper. The van started rocking gently. Pencil imagined the cop was getting an eye full. He wanted this trooper flustered and embarrassed.
Pencil snuck around the back, past the motorcycle with its lights flashing. He peered around the van to size up the trooper. In tall black boots and raingear, the patrolman watched the imagined action between Lizard and Brandy. The visor of his helmet was up. He was leaning in close and his breath steamed the window. He stared intently at what he thought was the climax of orgasm. Brandy must have figured it out, because she started to moan.
Pencil saw the cop was a few inches taller, so he allowed for that. With the flashing lights behind him, the cop wouldn’t see his face. He patted the pocket of his overalls for a number two lead pencil, long, yellow and sharp. He eased it out with his right hand and squeezed tight on the eraser end.
“Officer,” he hollered as he stepped out. “It’s my van. I’m right here. Just wandered away so my crew could have some hankie-do. You want my license and ID? I got it right here.” Pencil steamed forward, his left hand held out where the cop could see it.
He felt the tingle, the old familiar rush of adrenalin, the gas that gooses a killer’s spirit. He inhaled and moved forward, not too fast, closing the gap in three steps. “No worries,” he said. “Sorry to interrupt your evening. Pissing down tonight, hey?”
The cop jerked back and twisted away from the window. His pale face was blushing, his mouth open. He stopped licking his lips. Pencil saw the parade of lights splash off his teeth. The trooper raised a hand to shield his eyes. He held a club-like flashlight in his hand.
“You don’t want to be watching that kind of kinky love,” Pencil said with a chuckle. “It’ll rot your brain.”
DUE JUNE 20th to Celebrate Summer
Expletives Deleted
We like to write and read and muse awhile and smile. My pal Prasad comes to mutter too. Together we turn words into the arc of a rainbow. Insight Lite, you see?
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