Baby Boomer, Writer, Connoisseur of all things Classic: Movies, Television, Music, Vinyl, Cars, also a lover of technology.
I write stories that bend genres and cross the boundries of time and space.
Strangers In The Night
Saturday Morning Footsteps echoed around me. My footsteps. It crossed my mind someone might have followed me, but it couldn’t have been. My dark-colored sedan blended in with the rest of the cars on the road. And in the dark, it could look like either a dark blue or black or if the light hit it exactly right, even a purple of some sort.
The Stench of Mushrooms
The long hall channeled the smell of frying mushrooms directly toward me when I stepped off the elevators. I was reminded of my hate of mushrooms. Even the smell turned my stomach, much less the eating. Trying to ignore the smell emanating from the end of the hall, I checked the numbers on the doors, looking for the number fifty-five. It was the door at the end of the hall where the vile mushroom aroma wafted.
Once Upon a Time in The Desert
Saguaro cacti lined the old dirt road like skyscrapers lined the streets of New York. Any trace of previous travel down the road had long since been blown over by the winds of time. But he didn't need tracks to tell him where to go.
The Waters of Oricum
The mist rose above the canyon, hiding the dangers that lay beneath it. The mystical section of the planet that was off-limits to the colonists but had always drawn him to the brink of venturing into the mist, but he’d never entirely gone—until today. He had two days off, and he decided to explore. Hauling his backpack on his shoulders and adjusting the straps one last time, Randy Robertson stepped into the deep curtain of mist that lay before him.
Of Fountian Pens and Vinyl
In a world of instant music, television, and screens on every imaginable device, I use what many of you would call obsolete technologies. I use fountain pens and a paper planner for everyday notes and writing. I often listen to vinyl records on a turntable when listening to music.
The gentle breeze eased across the deck while the tide below rocked the boat gently on the water. Lying in a chaise lounge, his eyes closed and seemingly dead to the world, lay Captain Jacob Jarvis. In one hand, he held a signed first edition of The Old Man and The Sea, and on the deck next to the lounge chair, an open bottle of hundred-year-old scotch.
You don’t retire from some careers until they blow taps. Being a CIA Spook is one of those jobs. I’d retired from the spy business years ago and was now living in Florida, enjoying my grandchildren when they dropped by. I was doing well. My doctor said if I kept moving and caring for myself, I should be around for the grandkids’ weddings. Although truth be told, there were days I wasn’t so sure about that. Old age is a mean bitch.
Flea Market Finds
Flea Market Find Frank Sinatra sang about it in “Strangers in the Night.” Popular songs and literature covered the theme through the decades—the chance of meeting a stranger who changes your life. Hopefully, it’s for the good, but sometimes, things go wrong. Sometimes you know it’s the right thing, but most of the time not.
I hadn’t been back to the lighthouse since its construction. In the spring of seventeen-eighty, I was among the first to sail from the local port to the new worlds. My schooner was fast and light, and I made the trip in record time. I didn’t tell them I had advanced weather maps that helped me catch the jet streams and sail much faster. That would have made them wary of me and none too popular either. In some circles, people treated my name, Captain Jacob Jarvis, with disdain. Now two hundred and fifty years later, I was back in Florida at the Lighthouse I had helped build.
Tea For The Chosen Two
I hated to touch the little cup and saucer. The fear of breaking it was always in the back of my mind, but my morning wasn’t complete without a cup of tea from the little cup. The little figure on the cup that watched me seep my tea and gently pour it into its cup every morning seemed to be beckoning me somehow.