Jack Scranton

Jack Scranton

Writer, image retoucher, musician/composer, 3D artist. Despite modest success in all those fields, Photoshop paid the bills.

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  • Jack Scranton
    Published 12 days ago
    Team Work

    Team Work

    Jane threw her note pad onto the conference table and shot Kyle an I'll kill you look.
  • Jack Scranton
    Published 30 days ago
    Road Trip

    Road Trip

    The town wasn't run down or dilapidated, really, just old and tired. Grant looked out the diner window at the main intersection and figured the last new thing here probably took place before most of this breakfast crowd was born.
  • Jack Scranton
    Published 2 months ago
    Good Fortune

    Good Fortune

    Nadya sensed him without looking. She knew well the telltale tingle as men hungered after the lush curves of her youthful form. Lusting eyes caressed like fingers.
  • Jack Scranton
    Published 2 months ago
    Jammed

    Jammed

    Later, Jillian would credit Todd for the random encounter that brought Wesley into her life. Dear Todd, so well intentioned, so faithful, so supportive; and such a limitless source of guilt each time she contemplated leaving him and, in the same harsh move, severing herself from the undeniable status and position the union he so desired would bring to her life. Were riches worth boredom? Such internal ruminations had preoccupied her for weeks, but lately they'd been fogging her routine concentration. Just now, for instance. Certain that the cab she'd been hailing had pulled to the curb for her, she found that assumption unexpectedly, and unpleasantly challenged by a tall, dark stranger who calmly stepped in front of her and opened the door for himself.
  • Jack Scranton
    Published 2 months ago
    Great Balls of Fire

    Great Balls of Fire

    "The cards," said Barin. "Cut them."
  • Jack Scranton
    Published 2 months ago
    Your Cheatin' Heart

    Your Cheatin' Heart

    The first thing Nadine heard when she woke up was rain pelting the window. Then she rolled over and remembered that the other side of her bed was still empty. Joey always said the only thing a rainy Saturday morning was good for was Hank Williams on the radio, a bottle of Jim Beam, and screwin'. The Jim Beam was out in the kitchen but she hadn't touched it since she'd thrown him out. Or he left. Both sort of happened at the same time. As for Hank, she could probably play anything of his and feel like it was written just for her. Damn, she could almost hear the music now. Well, at least a guitar, which, as she more fully awakened, sounded less like Hank Williams and more like Duane Allman. That sent her heartbeat racing. Duane was Joey's patron saint.