Another Good Kish Sequence

There's very little I enjoy about finishing this damned book...but this passage made me feel like I'm doing something worth the aggravation

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Sweat covered his neck.  The back of his shirt collar was we and formless.  It stuck to his body, almost as an afterthought.  He gripped his rocks glass in one hand, a nub of a cigarette still burned in the other.  He looked like his grandfather, bent over at the bar and serious as hell.

“Heard from her?” Jimmy asked.

“No.  You?”

“Nope.”

When You're Beat

I grew up with this person who was a great point-spread player against the numbers for football, NFL more than college (especially because the college lines and the college game was even screwier than it is now)

But more than betting football, this person loved to gamble on horse racing.  The problem with that was she had terrible luck at the track.  After one particularly bad day of losing on all sorts of horses, each with a name more hopeful (and an outcome more disappointing than the last) she said, "Let's go home.  When you're beat, you're beat."

She could be an idiot, but on that point, she was totally right.

Robot Revolution

Last night I asked my phone, "Are robots trying to take over the world?"

It said, "Ha, ha, ha."

The Common Cure

I think the iPhone may have cured my depression.  That is all.

One of My Favorite Parts

Doing very little in the way of blogging because I am in the final stages/death throes of editing Kish.  Today's pages are making me happy because I think I've got the rhythm of one of my favorite parts right, or just about as good as I am going to get it...


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Everybody paraded back to Douglass.  D and I played guitar between C and D wings.  Gunderson yelled something to us, and not knowing it was a friend, I threatened his ass with Devin’s guitar.  D said, “Next time you threaten to shove a guitar up somebody’s ass, try and make it your guitar.”

I make no promises.

What I can say is I am glad Devin and I have become friends.  We laugh almost the whole fucking time we are together.  We seem to know all we need to know about each other and go from there.  We come from very different places and none of those differences matter one damned bit.  I know of entire neighborhoods where they still name kids Patty, Peggy, Trudie and Virginia.  He comes from a biracial family and his name is Devin.