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Posted on April 27, 2024 by Author Sam Wolfe
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Posted on April 27, 2024 by dello
Notes from the Edge 04-27-2024 10:23 a.m.
Well, here it is almost May. It appears as though spring has finally sprung here in Northern New York, or, as I like to think of it, Little Canada. That has been a joke with myself and my friends since we were little kids. It was because we live so close to Canada that we could pick up the Canadian television stations better than we could the American television stations. And as a teenager I probably spent as much time in Canada as I did in this area. It was like going over to the next little town. No different. Canada is a little over 30 miles to the border; the biggest actual city close to us is over seventy miles away. Why drive seventy miles for my dumb small-town self to get mugged when I can drive 30 or so and feel relatively safe in Canada, hey?
The thing I appreciated, as a curious young boy, was that channel 13, CJOH in Canada, did not censor their television broadcasts. If you watched a movie and it had anything risqué in it, they showed it. Or maybe a film entirely in French. We picked up a little French living on the border, but not enough to understand it completely. But it made us feel sophisticated to watch a film in another language. Instant culture. Status. At least to us. I can remember watching Tina Turner do a concert broadcast on Canadian television, wearing a fishnet tank top shirt that covered nothing. My friend and I were floored. At least until my mother came in and flipped out. Oh well. Little Canada.
In the summertime there were always French speaking tourists. They came here just like we went there. Nowadays if you want to cross the border you better be prepared for a wait. And I cannot recall the last time I saw Canadian tourists on our streets. A long time.
I also grew up in Texas as a younger child. There we lived right on the border of Mexico. So, I think I grew up with an idea that the U.S. Borders were pretty loose things. More concept than reality. When we lived in Texas my parents took us back and forth to Mexico all of the time. There were a few places they liked to eat in Mexico. They would hop in the car, and we were there. It was pretty cool.
I only mention it to relay how it used to be. The concept of another country, a border, was much different back then. And like anything else you live it seemed as though it would always be that way. It’s sad to see that it has changed so drastically, and it makes me wonder how much more it will change.
Here is a glimpse into a book I wrote years ago that I never published. I have dozens of books like that, someday I have to get my head together and get them out of the notebooks I wrote them in and into my word-processor software and publish or ghost them to someone so they can publish them.
HURRICANE
Copyright W. G. Sweet 2009-2024 all rights reserved.
This story is part of a completely written novel and is presented here with permission of the author. It may not be copied or republished in any manner on any other medium. If you would like someone to read it please point them to this blog. Respect the hard work of this author/ghostwriter.
One
Elements
Monday:
“It’s bad luck to skip school on a Monday,” Amy Knowles said to her best friend Deidre Blevins.
“I know,” Deidre said, “But I hate it. I just can’t be there. I can’t deal with those Goddamn Nuns today. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, Aim… I didn’t even tell Jimmy.”
“I know that. Obviously I want to go… I mean,” Amy fell silent.
“What,” Deidre asked?
“We’re friends,” Amy said. “It’s been me and you way before Jimmy or Mike came along… It’s just that, sometimes we get too far away from that.” Her face colored.
Deidre nodded. “We do… So, where do you and I go today… With no car… No way to get nowhere. I hate being on foot… It’s just about all I keep Jimmy around for. That and the pot,” Deidre said.
“Really,” Amy asked?
She thought about it. “I could think of something better… For right now he’s okay. I like him well enough.”
Amy wondered what the something better might be. Deidre had colored a little when she said it. She didn’t ask though. It was good enough just being together. She didn’t want to complicate it with feelings.
“I smell rubber burning,” Deidre said and smiled. “A penny for your thoughts: That’s what my dad always says to me.”.
“They’re worth more than a penny,” Amy said as they reached the parking lot. She slipped her hand through Deidre’s arm. “Lead on,” She said.
Deidre was surprised by the arm, but pleasantly surprised. She liked the feel of it, she decided. She looked up at the sky then back down at the parking lot. “We could hitch out to your place or we could walk around downtown.”
“We could get picked up by some psycho too,” Amy said.
“Never have,” Deidre countered.
“Okay, but if some psycho picks us up and kills us I am going to be so pissed at you,” Amy said. She tried a little smile on her face. Deidre answered it with one of her own.
“Never happen,” Deidre said as they started across the parking lot.
“I’d probably follow you anywhere,” Amy said softly. So softly that Deidre was not sure she had even heard her.
“Yeah; I wish that were true,” Deidre said every bit as softly.
Amy looked up at her. She had heard the words, but she was looking away. She was about to speak when Jimmy’s voice interrupted her. She looked up and there he was. His blonde hair hanging in his eyes, head half out the window of his truck. When no one answered he spoke again.
“I said, I thought you was staying at school today?” He said again looking a Deidre.
“Well, you said you might be here, so Amy and I thought we would try,” Deidre said quickly and smiled.
Amy nodded and smiled.
The car behind Jimmy’s truck blew its horn and Jimmy twisted around and glared back at the driver. He popped up his middle finger and showed it to the driver and then looked back at Deidre. “So, where we gonna go? I didn’t make no plans and I ain’t got no money,” Jimmy said.
Deidre had about forty dollars on her, two tens in her pocket and the rest in her sneaker. She pulled out the two tens. “This will get us a little way, right,” She asked?
Jimmy took the two tens and slipped them in his pocket. “We can go out to Mike’s,” he looked at Amy. “He’s working on the Nissan today… I can help him… We can hang out… We have enough for beer now and gas to get there too.” Jimmy said.
The car behind him tapped its horn once more. Jimmy levered open the door jumped out and started to turn back to the car but Deidre caught his arm.
“Baby, you’ll get us in trouble. We’ll get caught,” she said as she pulled him away.
The guy in the car rolled his window up quickly. Jimmy smiled at him, flipped him off again and then turned back to Deidre and Amy. “Lucky for that little fuck,” he said. “Come on.” He held the driver’s door open as first Amy and then Deidre crawled across to the passenger’s side and then turned and looked back at the car. The young guy behind the wheel refused to look back. Jimmy flipped him off again and then climbed back into his truck.
~
“What does it look like,” Bob Travers asked? He was at his own desk but he called up a view of the latest National Weather Service radar on his monitor.
Rebecca Monet leaned closer to the monitor, her breasts brushing against his shoulder as she did. “It could be the big one. It’s building fast and they are already predicting a path that will bring it right to us,” She told him. “I want to be the one that gets it if it does. I mean, I know I’ll have it at first but if it goes big I want to keep it instead of it going to Bethany,” she said in a low voice, nearly a whisper.
Bethany Jacobs was the anchor woman for Channel Eight News. She sat next to Bob during the newscasts. He had his pick of the big stories and left the rest to Bethany.
“Becca, you know I can’t do that,” Bob said in an equally low voice.
“Bullshit,” she said sweetly and smiled. “I know what your contract says. You schedule. You appoint. It’s your call.” Her breasts pressed more firmly against his shoulder. “Come on, Bob. I’m good. I can do it. You know I can,” Rebecca pleaded. Her hand came up and rested lightly on his upper arm. Her perfume was subtle but intoxicating.
“Bethany will go ballistic,” Bob whispered.
“So what,” Rebecca said.
“We have a …. A sort of,” Bob started.
“I know. It’s not like it’s a secret.” Her hand stroked his bicep. “I would do anything you want, Bob,” she said. The weight of her breasts against his shoulder suddenly seemed to increase tenfold. “I mean anything,” she said leaning closer and whispering in his ear. Her lips brushed his ear.
“Are we talking about the same thing,” Bob asked, his voice low. His eyes scanned the room looking to make sure no one was watching or eavesdropping.
“I’ve got a few minutes… I’m sure your dressing room is empty. Let me show you what I’m talking about. I think we’re on the same page,” Rebecca whispered. And this time her lips not only brushed against his ear they seemed planted there.
“I… I can’t right now,” Bob said.
“Can’t stand up,” she asked with a musical little laugh.
“Something like that,” Bob agreed.
“I’ll meet you there… I’ll let myself in,” She asked?
Bob nodded. The weight of her breasts were instantly gone, but the sound of her voice and the scent of her perfume were in his head. ‘Boy was Bethany going to be pissed off,’ he thought. But Tad Edwards, the station manager, had already dropped hints to him about seeing Rebecca work more, and a few other hints about how he thought Bethany was not aging well, meaning to Tad she was past her prime at twenty-seven and he thought it was time for a fresh face. A younger face. Rebecca was all of twenty, and she was… He made himself stop thinking about her. He had to, or else, he told himself, he’d never be able to get up.
‘Man oh Man was Bethany ever going to be pissed off,’ he told himself again.
~
Paul lay in Jane’s bed. He had left early this morning on the pretext of having to go over the paper work for the yearend audit, and that was partly true, but the real truth was that they had been getting less and less time together and he had simply needed to be with her.
“We have got to go,” Jane said from beside him.
“I know,” Paul told her. Her body was pressed to his own, one of his arms holding her to him. He didn’t let go. She felt so good. She reached over and bit his chest softly.
“Ow,” Paul said… “Okay… Oh all right… Maybe tonight? I could say I’m working late.”
“I can’t… You know I’ve got classes… Tomorrow?” She countered.
He smiled “That will work.” His hand slipped down and rubbed across her buttocks, squeezing gently and then, reluctantly, he let her go.
She held him a second longer and then kissed him before she rolled away. “I love you,” she said.
“I love you to,” he said automatically. “I’ll go first?” He headed for the shower and a few minutes later he was merging into traffic on I 65 and heading towards the Airport Road exit.
He and Janey had been an item for about a year. Paul Blevins didn’t really think about it as cheating on his wife Peggy any longer. He was pretty sure she was pursuing her own interests anyway. It just was.
He didn’t think too hard about the love aspect of the relationship either. Sure, he told her he loved her, and he did. She had a perfect body, and he loved it. And her attitude was great, he loved that too. And she was completely devoted to him; how could he not love that? But, the other kind of love: The kind that made you cry; made your heart ache? No. He had loved Peggy like that at one time. He loved his daughter Deidre like that. She could probably get anything at all out of him. But she didn’t abuse it. She was a pretty good kid most of the time. Not out running around getting involved in all the bad stuff that kids her age got involved in. He had no real concerns or worries about her. All of his real love. The kind that could hurt him anyway was reserved for her. She had never abused it and Paul didn’t think she ever would; or could for that matter.
He and Peggy had fallen apart a few years before and there seemed to be no way to fix it. Janey was pushing lately for them to be together. Her little boy, Lincoln, who was just two years old, already thought of Paul as his father. And Paul supposed that eventually he and Janey would probably be together.
Deidre had about six months of school left and then she would be off to college. Local if he had his way, New York if Peggy’s father had his way. And there was not too much that Peggy’s father did not get his way on. Money did talk and he had a lot of it.
Either way there was no reason to stay after Deidre was gone. There would be nothing there. It would feel too weird sleeping in the same bed, keeping up the charade. For what? For whom? They really only kept up the pretense now for Deidre’s sake. If she was gone, what would be the point?
There would be no point, he told himself. Janey would most likely get her way… Sooner rather than later.
The radio played low as he drove, and he listened as he watched traffic. Nothing much new. A tropical depression building off the coast of Africa. A big One. One that bore watching the weatherman said. Maybe it would be something, Paul thought, but he doubted it. They almost always slipped off and shot up the coast or veered off and hit Louisiana or Texas. Most likely this one would too.
He came to a near dead stop in a long line of cars making their way onto Airport Road. Janey would be along in another thirty minutes or so. With Peggy’s fathers’ money it wasn’t a good idea to make themselves an easy target. On the surface Peggy might not seem to care, but Paul suspected she had to be thinking about the future too. Six months from now was the future. Or the end of their future. Six months from now, divorce most likely, and he didn’t mean to make it easy for her. So they were careful. Never leaving at the same times. Not being seen together.
The only reason he had stuck it out these last few years was Deidre. He wanted no custody dispute that she would be dragged into. No loss of seeing her. Peggy and her father’s money could make him look bad. Take her away. That would kill him, and he knew it. She knew how much it would hurt him, which is exactly why she would do it. For Spite. For payback. Women were like that. Women whose fathers had deep pockets were even more like that, he thought. He had no doubt that had he pulled the plug a few years ago she would have made sure he never saw Deidre again until she was old enough to make her own decisions: By then Peggy may have poisoned her mind completely.
He could do without Peggy, Jane too, but not Deidre. So here he was, day after day. Six months to go and it would all be over. He inched forward through the traffic trying to clear his mind as he went.
The audit. Now there was a sobering thought. Janey really was helping with the audit. He had bought her in. It was a mess. There were real problems there. Problems that would take Janey to fix if he could convince her to do it for him. She was helping. Going through the mounds of paperwork. She was smart, she would see it. He would let it be her idea. He hoped it would be her idea. He pushed the thoughts away.
The line of cars suddenly poured onto Airport Road, and he sped up just making it out and merging into the middle lane at the expense of a blaring horn and a pissed off driver of a beverage delivery truck who had not wanted to let him in. He made the left lane finally, signaled at the light and cut across the feeder road and then into the restaurant parking lot.
A few cars, and for the second time in as many weeks a moving van was parked in the lot. Companies did that all the time, but he could not remember if there was a moving company nearby with that name. Peggy was what he was thinking of. Peggy and her father’s deep pockets. Her father’s money that could hire a private detective to follow him. To poke around. Six months, he reminded himself as he parked, got out and walked to the restaurant. She could do as she pleased with daddy’s money after that.
He whistled as he walked to the door, unlocked it and stepped inside the restaurant.
~
Dave Plasko shot the ball under his knee and across to Steve Minor. They had tried letting Darren Reed, who was part of their little group, play but he was too slow mentally to keep up. It confused him and then it panicked him, and once he was panicked, he might do anything: Best to let him watch from the sidelines as he was now.
Steve caught the ball, faked left then walked himself to the right, put the ball up and it kissed the rim as it went through.
“That’s it. You dudes are done,” Dave said.
“Another one?” Light said. “One more?”
“Got to work, Light,” Dave said. “Outside clearance. Can’t fuck that up. We’ll play when I’m back this afternoon.”
“Now, how is it you three white boys got that all sewn up,” Light asked?
“Hmm… We’re white? … It’s Alabama? How the fuck should I know. This is your fucked up state not mine, Light. You know we ain’t on that shit.” Dave told him.
Light bounced the ball across the small basketball court that was just off the main prison yard, and into the Recreation box on the other side.
“Yeah. If you could only play that fuckin’ good all the time…” Dave joked.
“I do, New York. You motherfuckers just cheat too goddamn much,” Light laughed.
The yard gate opened and Jack Johnson, an overweight correction officer stepped in and looked around the yard. “What the fuck, Plasko,” he asked when his eyes fell on him. “You and your girlfriends ready to go to work or not? I ain’t got all goddamned day you know.”
“Later,” Plasko told Light. They touched fists. “On our way, Mister Johnson,” he called out. He looked to Darren and Steve and the three of them headed across the rec yard to the gate…
Like it? Buy the manuscript. I have the entire novel written about ten thousand words transcribed into my Microsoft Word software. I don’t use A.I., I actually write very prolifically. I have many other stories and novels written or can and will write on demand.
My Ghostwriting page: https://writerz.net/public/2024/04/05/hire-a-multi-genre-ghostwriter/
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Posted on April 27, 2024 by Author Sam Wolfe
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4LLehDsU-NQ
The last ride is a true story based on my years driving Taxi. I did change a few names, other than that this is a true story read by myself. #Geotrue #nonfiction #audicast #taxi #cab #Death #Ride #Fare Dell & Amber Smith
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Posted on April 26, 2024 by dello
by George Dell (Author) Format: Kindle Edition
Ben Neo does dirty work for Tommy Murphy. Take care of this guy, fix that problem. The kind of fixes that carry lengthy jail sentences. On the side he picks up strays and teaches them the tricks of his trade. Nikki Moore and Ed Reiser are his latest trainees. Carlos Sanchez works for Jefferson Prescott, the largest illegal drug smuggler in the Americas. Jefferson has put him in charge of the biggest drug deal he has ever done, but Carlos has a few bad habits, including Lita, Jefferson’s daughter. Daryl Jones and Danny Gaynor were hired by Carlos to deliver the drugs, but curiosity got the best of them. They took a look at what they were transporting and decided they should negotiate a better deal, and just maybe they should keep a little for themselves. Jimmy West handles the less savory work for Tommy Murphy. Wet work. When things go really bad Jimmy is Tommy’s go to guy. He knows Jimmy will do whatever it takes to get to the answers he needs, including murder. David Cross is stuck in the slow lane. Nowhere job, nowhere life, until one early morning when millions of dollars in drugs and cash fall into his lap. When Tommy Murphy and Jefferson Prescott send their hired killers to find the missing drugs and cash. David goes on the run with a beautiful young woman and the chase begins… A fast action packed page turner.
George Dell
#CrimeFiction #CrimeStory #OrganizedCrime #Kindle https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00R1WXFW0
A Free Chapter read!
Dead Bad
Copyright George Dell 2014
This preview is licensed to the Sam Wolfe recommended podcasts blog and nowhere else. If you want someone to read this kindly point them to this blog to do so. Thank you for appreciating the hard work of this writer.
This material is owned by George Dell and may not be copied or transmitted in any form without the express written permission of the author or his Assignee.
DEAD BAD
~
“Oh yeah, it’s a match,” Don said. He showed Sammy the two thumbprints.
“But I thought we wouldn’t know until Monday afternoon at the earliest?” Sammy said.
“Technically, officially we won’t. I just suspected it was the kid. He did time so I pulled his card. The prints match, but I’m not a qualified expert, so we have to wait officially until they give us the word on Monday,” Don said.
“So we still can’t do anything this weekend?” Sammy said.
“Might give us a little leverage,” Don said. He walked across the garage and returned the fingerprint to a tech.
“Got our guy?” the tech asked.
“A strong possibility,” Don said. “Very strong. I’d like you to keep that between us… Chain of custody… Don’t wanna fuck with that shit,” Don said.
“Hell no,” the tech said. “That would be my ass.” He walked away and then came back. “Same print on the trunk lid too… Glad it helped… It did help, right?” he asked.
“It did,” Don said in a low voice. “And thanks.”
“So now we know why he needed the keys, to check the trunk,” Sammy said.
Don nodded… “Want to go rattle his cage a little?” he asked.
“I do. And I’m wondering why our witness didn’t see him do it?” Sammy said.
“Easy,” Don said. “The car was out of sight at the back of the trailer.”
“Probably,” Sammy agreed. “But, I want to hear her say that. What was her name anyway, Ali… Amy… Something like that.”
“April,” Don supplied before Sammy could look it up in his notebook. “Yeah, April like the month. Why does someone name their daughter something like that? Or Brandy, or Misty, you just know every guy in school is gonna be banging her,” Don said.
“Banging the shit right out of her,” Sammy agreed. They both laughed.
“Let’s go,” Don said. They headed out of the garage into the late afternoon sunlight. It was fall and even with the strong sunlight there wasn’t a lot of warmth in the air.
“I fucking hate fall,” Sammy said.
“And winter soon,” Don said. He unlocked the car: Leaned across to unlock the passenger side; started the car and pulled out of the lot.
~
They drove over to the West side of the city. April followed as David searched for an abandoned piece of property. The problem wasn’t finding one, the problem was finding one that wasn’t already being used by drug dealers or that had a place to pull behind it. He found one by an abandoned apartment house on a side street and pulled behind it. April pulled in behind him.
“This makes the trailer park looked like high class,” she said.
“We better hurry before we attract a crowd,” David said. They transferred everything to the Jeep in just a few minutes, and then David used a screwdriver to take the plates off the truck. He emptied the glove box and behind the seat, then used a hammer to smash one corner out of the windshield and a pair of pliers along with a screwdriver to remove the VIN plate.
He had no doubt the truck would be gone ten minutes after they were gone, but once it did turn up, if it ever did, it would be hard to trace without the VIN plate. There were other areas, motor, frame, but usually no tow yard was going to go through the trouble of checking. They’d tow it in and store it in the yard and eventually auction it off. Even then it would probably go for parts so there would be no need to find the VIN and run it through DMV.
Most likely one of the several pair of eye’s watching them would steal it and keep it for themselves. He left the key in the switch. As they were leaving three guys were walking down the block toward the house. Or at least it seemed that way to David. They stopped and flipped off the Jeep as they rode by them, then they ran down to the house. Before they had turned off the block David saw the nose of the truck poke out of the driveway.
“Better get us away quicker, April. Make a few fast turns. Those guys might chase us with our own truck,” David said.
April took the next left then a right and another quick left and they popped out on Genesee Street. David looked, but he didn’t see his truck anywhere.
“Looks good,” he managed before something hit them from behind. He nearly broke his neck getting turned around only to see it was his own truck with the three guys driving.
“Can you drive this hard?” David asked. “If not we’re going to have to find a way to switch.”
April dropped the drive letter into low and floored the Jeep. She shot around a line of traffic swerving out into the oncoming lanes, then skidded into a hard left and shot down a side street. Instead of slowing she kept the Commander floored and ran the next several blocks flat out. Checking in mirrors as she left the truck behind.
She slowed just enough to make a slight curve and then sped up again. She locked up the brakes halfway down the block to make a fast right. She drove hard for the next three blocks, and then made a left. The truck was nowhere in sight, but she made another fast right before she slowed down.
She cursed under her breath. It was a dead end street, mostly abandoned properties. She got the truck turned around and headed back. Halfway down the block David’s truck shot across the mouth of the street, and she could hear the tires scream as the driver locked up the brakes. She made the next intersection and headed back the way they had come.
She floored the truck again and blew by a half dozen two way stop sign intersections that bisected the street they were traveling on. She finally locked up the brakes again and slid the Jeep into a left and they were coming up on Genesee Street once more.
April skirted a small line of cars waiting at the red light and slid out into the street, tires smoking.
She punched the gas hard and got the Jeep two streets down before she turned again and shot up two blocks and then made a right onto a side street.
“Christ,” David said as she flew by a stopped dump truck and he heard something scrape down the entire passenger side of the Jeep. “You’re gonna get us killed!”
“Those guys are gonna get us killed,” she said as behind her the pickup truck swung out around the dump truck and then sideswiped a car parked nearby before the driver got it straightened out again.
They were driving into one of the more run down areas and she made a quick left and then another quick left trying to lose them on the narrow short streets. David reached forward and pulled one of the flat black 9 MM guns from the glove box, flipped off the safety and laid it on the seat top. He looked at April who snatched it up and dropped it into her lap.
David took a second gun out and got it ready.
“Fuck,” April said. “Dead end! Dead end again!“
“Fuck it, get it turned around,” David yelled.
April floored it, jumped the curb and tore up the front yard of the house before turning around. She came back down onto the street, slammed the gearshift into park and jumped out of the truck.
“What the fuck are you doing?” David Screamed. He jumped out of the truck. He could hear his own truck, engine screaming as it came. April stopped and then raised the pistol. David stared at her incredulously for second and then lifted his own gun.
The truck came screaming down the other street, saw them and locked up their brakes. April opened up, and David fell in with her. The driver got the truck turned toward them, floored it and then the windshield blew apart.
One of the guys on the passenger side leaned out with a pistol and opened up on them, but he was shooting wild. David was surprised at his own calm as he turned, took careful aim and then fired at the side of the truck. The pistol fell from the guy’s hand and then both of them had to jump out of the way to miss the truck as it roared by them and cannoned down the street.
The truck continued a half block before it jumped the curb and plowed into a house. April and David were up and scrambling for the Jeep even as flames begin to shoot up from the house and the wreckage of the truck.
David ran for the truck only to find a young guy sprinting for the Jeep.… He saw David and April and let his pistol drop to the ground.
Don’t… Don’t… Don’t shoot me,” the kid yelled. He stood a frightened look in his eyes as blood dripped down one side of his face. His breath came in ragged gasps.
David ignored him, jumped into the truck just behind April and slammed the door.
April gunned the engine and ran hard for about ten blocks, then slowed, working her way to the outskirts of the city on the back streets, finally pulling into a huge mall parking lot and parking in the first spot she found.
“That was fucking crazy,” David said. He was still breathing hard.
April nodded and then burst into tears…
Dead Bad Kindle Edition
by George Dell (Author) Format: Kindle Edition https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00R1WXFW0
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Posted on April 25, 2024 by dello
Geo Dell/George Dell
Guitar Works
Guitar Works Volume One: Finish Work Kindle Edition
This guide will give you information that you can use to do your own finish and spot repairs on guitars. #WoodWorking #Luthier #GuitarBuilds #CustomGuitarBuilding #Amazon
Guitar Works Volume Two: Custom Builds One Kindle Edition
5.0 out of 5 stars
This manual will give you information that you can use to do your own custom repairs on guitars. #WoodWorking #Luthier #GuitarBuilds #CustomGuitarBuilding #Amazon
Guitar Works Volume Three: Custom Builds Two Kindle Edition
5.0 out of 5 stars #WoodWorking #Luthier #GuitarBuilds #CustomGuitarBuilding #Amazon
The AdjustOvation Build: This is a complete start to finish custom build. The base is an Ovation Applause…
Guitar Works Volume Four: The CD60 Build Kindle Edition
#WoodWorking #Luthier #GuitarBuilds #CustomGuitarBuilding #Amazon
This volume contains the complete Fender CD60 build. This is a complete start to finish custom build.
Guitar Works: Volume Five: Repair Work Kindle
Whether we are customizing a guitar, repairing a fractured neck, refretting a beloved instrument or building our own guitar from scratch… #WoodWorking #Luthier #GuitarBuilds #CustomGuitarBuilding #Amazon
Guitar Works Volume Six:
This is a 7 string acoustic project. I started with a damaged acoustic guitar as a base: Stripped the neck and top off and began my build on this basic skeleton… #WoodWorking #Luthier #GuitarBuilds #CustomGuitarBuilding #Amazon
Guitar Works Volume Seven: The Scrap Wood Build Kindle
The Scrap Wood build is exactly as it sounds. It is a slim bodied electric guitar built from scrap wood. I went further than that and…
#WoodWorking #Luthier #GuitarBuilds #CustomGuitarBuilding #Amazon
The Guitar Works Big Book Kindle Edition
5.0 out of 5 stars
The Guitar Works Big Book contains sections on finish work, Acoustic builds, Electric Builds, Neck work and much more…
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Posted on April 23, 2024 by dello
(72)americathedead (@americathedead) | TikTok
When the world falls apart after an extinction event. The few who are left look to their governments for help.
But the Governments are done. The Police are done. The Military are done. The few remaining in power can do nothing except release a top-secret virus that may help.
In the end the release of the virus SS-V2765 did not help the living. Instead it helped the dead and changed the entire survival rate for the living. They now not only had the other living to worry about…
But when the dead began to rise all the power shifted…
The Human Race began to fall and the Zombie Race began to rise…
America the Dead – A. L. Norton – YouTube
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Posted on April 22, 2024 by dello
Notes from the Edge 04-21-2024
E.R. Visit
Wound up in the E.R. the other evening/morning with my wife who was not feeling well; wow, what an eye opener that was.
Got there the previous afternoon at around 4:00 PM or so. It was semi busy, looked about the same as it did twenty years ago, the last time I was in an E.R. waiting anyway; but within just a few moments I realized how different it was.
The first thing I noticed was Homeless People in the ER. Lounging, stealing pens and talking nurses and security staff into crackers, sodas, ice water, socks. I was amazed at how things were. Who knew? Well, apparently the hospital is because one of the homeless people was a handful for several hours. He got a staff member to give him a glass of ice and then went over to an abandoned half bottle of soda and poured over the ice and drank it. The man across from him said something to him and he made several colorful remarks back including “It ain’t your f*ckin’ soda so shut the f*ck up. I reminded myself to keep my f*ckin’ mouth shut, which I did, but when I turned back to my wife, she was glancing past me to the left trying to get me to look, so I did.
Nothing special a young girl all curled up in a single seat, she was that small with pink toenails sticking out, which is what I thought she was referring to. I shook my head, I didn’t get it, so she cut her eyes again and I looked back, this time sliding past the pink toenails to a large expanse of bare ass sticking out of those skin-tight see-through- yoga pants she had on that a lot of women seem to wear, that has somehow slid off her hips and down to the middle of her ass. A full moon.
I almost laughed and then had to remind myself that I had looked with permission, but I had better not look again. I think I said something like ‘Urk” I didn’t know what else to say.
About then homeless man one starting wandering around the E.R. talking to himself. Things like: “Lass week I’s in Buffalo shootin’ H. Been out since Saturday.” Then he looks at you like he might just cut you for your pocket change.
Cut my eyes away, overshot and wound up looking at that wide expanse of ass again. Jeezz, I said to myself, out loud.
“What are you looking at that woman’s ass again for?” My wife asked. “Wasn’t I lied,” and nodded at the mumbling homeless man who had luckily migrated to the general area of behind the woman’s ass.
My wife left off, satisfied but why is there something like that in an E.R. anyway?
Things chilled out for eleven seconds and then the girl must have felt a breeze on her ass and tugged up her yoga pants. I swear withing a very few seconds they were back down so far, I was sure there was going to be a serious breach of panties at any moment. And, the thing is, those yoga pants are so thin you can see everything through them, panties, EVERYTHING. I felt like switching places with my wife, having her run interference. But, no, this was my problem and so I forced my eyes back to wandering around the ER.
Homeless man 1 got a nurse to give him a Sprite and some snacks. He was happy for a moment, and that was when homeless man two showed up. He asked to see a patient that did not exists. When the security guard told him there was no such patient he said “Oh, Okay,” and wandered away to a small corner of the waiting room that held a few chairs and disappeared from the security guard. Suddenly security guard 2 shows up, is informed by security guard 1 that there may be a problem, and heads over to the area homeless man 2 disappeared in.
We could hear a brief argument: Yes, we, the whole damn room was bored, waiting to be seen and since the wide expanse of ass had once again been covered there was nothing else to do, then the two of them came out of the corner with homeless man 2 protesting that he had simply forgot to sign in. The security guard walks him to the sign-in table right next my wife and I and hands him the paper to fill out. The homeless man stood for a few moments, fumbled with the pen, stole two of the pens and then headed down the hallway the went back into the ER proper.
“HEY!” Yelled the security guard from the desk, “you can’t go down there! But down there he went and so the security guard chased him down and he came back reluctantly. And, just as the security guard sat down the homeless guy starts scream and jumping up and down and shaking his fists in front of the desk and trying to eyeball all of us with the stank eye at the same time. “I Want a Psych Review! I WANT A F*CKIN’ PSYCH REVIEW RIGHT NOW!!!
That puckered me up. I have seen crazy before, and I don’t like it. Especially when I have a wife right next to me and in between me and sir crazy. So, I edged forward. Old I may be, but I weigh 270 and if he comes to close to my wife, he’s going to lay down hard.
He didn’t. A second later he bolted down the hallway again this time pursued by a skinny security guard who apparently had bigger kahunas that the other fat security guard. We didn’t see him again for a while, so I assume he got his wish for a psych eval.
I believe it was about four hours later when my wife was finally called back to see the actual doctor; after a cat scan, blood work and an exam by a PA and a nurse. This was around midnight.
Within seconds of her leaving the semi naked woman next to me began to cry. Uh uh, I told myself. Your wife will kill you. And so, I sat there like the sane old bastard I am and let her cry. I felt bad, but the older you get you either get smarted or you find yourself the star of an episode of Snapped where wifey buried you in the back yard garden, and they only discovered you because the cat partially disinterred you while crapping on you.
Two hours after that, with more homeless man 1 con jobs on the nurses, and more expanses wide expanses of bare ass the nurse came and got me to take me back there. I admit it, I thanked God profusely.
It was after shift change the next day before we were seen by the doctor. And as we sat back there for hours waiting Homeless man 1 got sent to Pysch Eval too, where we overheard homeless man 2 already was. He ran in there as soon as the door to the mental health unit was opened. We finally ended the whole fiasco after 14 plus hours, no sleep, wifey finally got a shot that gave her some relief. 14 hours for a shot to help settle down a migraine. Crazy, and finding out that drug addicts and homeless people have, at least from what we saw, and the fact that the hospital staff catered to them as though they were used to giving them pens, paper, notebooks, sodas, crackers and more to settle them down, have pretty much tried to settle the problems they have in their lives by crashing in on the hospital E.R and mental Health units.
I left some things out because you wouldn’t believe it and I don’t want to exploit people as it was a real event. But next time you need to make an E.R. visit you might want to switch that to an urgent care, I understand those places are marginally worse for the care part, but substantially stricter for the crazies. Of course, I might add that Urgent Care had at least one doctor on, and the ER, 20 times larger also had only one doctor one…
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Posted on April 18, 2024 by dello
News…
This week: It seems like last to this, the week flew by, and I had so much to do that I really couldn’t stop to think about it.
Microwave ovens and presets on microwave ovens:
I like microwave ovens. They have made our lives better; I truly believe that. How else can you get a hot cup of coffee from yesterday’s leftover coffee in just about 120 seconds? Not that I do that. I mean drink yesterday’s left-over coffee… Okay… I do.
Here’s the thing though, it’s coffee! That’s my only argument. It should be enough though. I mean it’s like sacred, isn’t it? If I were living in a cave and discovered the coffee bean and bought it to my fellow cave dwellers, they would probably build a shrine for me and worship me… Paint pictures of Coffee beans on the cave walls instead of hands, horses and signs for water. History would have been changed! Well, would have been changed had that happened.
So, no. I won’t throw out coffee. I guess that is a shocking admission but it’s true.
Once, I can’t remember the movie, some western, the character threw the dregs of then coffee in his cup on the fire. The other guys around the fire looked at him like he was crazy… Crazy! And, he must have been. I was just a kid at the time, and I thought he was crazy! After that the other cowboys ostracized him. And he wasn’t asked along for the next roundup. That’s how serious a thing coffee was for cowboys back in the day. So. I don’t throw away coffee. Which brings me back to microwaves. Don’t you wish your mind worked the way mine does? See how I came right back to where I wanted to be? Okay. I don’t even know how my mind works; I just thank God that it does. So, Microwaves…
I like the idea of a Microwave, but I do have some issues with them. First, you cannot make popcorn consistently. In fact, I went to make popcorn the other day and the bag said, “Do not use the Popcorn Setting on your Microwave.” Huh. Then why have the setting there? Isn’t that the whole idea? Ease of use? Push one button? Well, we’ll get to that in a minuet. The bag went on to give precise microwave instructions. If you have this many “Watts” use this amount of time. This many, that amount of time. I had a headache when I finished reading it. Finally, I put the popcorn back into the cupboard and got some chips instead and sank into a deep depression over the whole technology thing. How can you eat microwavable popcorn if the button settings are wrong, and you have to spend three hours figuring out wattage? You can’t just get out a pan and some butter, tear open the bag and do it that way, can you?
Well, as I sat eating my chips that I didn’t want I thought about that. There are a lot of buttons on a microwave. For instance, there is a beverage button on mine. It doesn’t work for beverages though. It leaves them too cold or too hot. But what if you accidentally pushed the popcorn button? And you then found out the popcorn button worked for beverages? Wouldn’t that be great? Well, it does. I tried. But the beverage button will not work for Popcorn. What a mess that was. But, in the end, I did go back out there, rip a popcorn bag open, and put it in a pan with some butter. Guess what? That did work.
As for the coffee on the popcorn setting it did come out pretty good, but I have an aversion to using a button marked Popcorn for coffee. But I wonder. If the popcorn companies don’t want you to use it, why do the microwave companies still make a popcorn button? Hmmm. And if the beverage button doesn’t work for beverages, what the Hell good is it anyway? And, if coffee is the most nuked beverage, why not a Coffee button? And stay with me here, if the Popcorn button isn’t used anyway, why not re-label it Coffee? Then I wouldn’t have to feel so bad about using the popcorn button for my coffee. Hey, I’m going to get one of those little label makers and make a coffee sticker and put it right over the Popcorn label. That will solve my problems for now. Feel free to just copy the picture above, print it out, and paste it on your own Microwave! No need to say thanks.
That only leaves the power button on mine. But that is kind of cool. You can press it, set the time amount, and watch the little turntable go around and around….
Have a good week…
Watertown
Tuesday Morning:
Project Bluechip
Major Richard Weston
He read the report twice and then carefully set it back on his desk. Johns or Kohlson: One of the two had stolen samples of SS-V2765. It was not a question. No one else had the access, no one else the proximity or knowledge of where it was stored. Two of the viruses, one each of the REX agents were missing. Enough to infect several million people and that was just the initial infection. From there the infected would go on to infect even more, where it stopped was anyone’s guess.
Knowing it was one of the two did not solve the problem of how for him though: There should have been no way to get it out. Every area of the facility was under surveillance. There had to be more than just one of the two involved.
From Complex C they were stripped down, showered: Out of the showers naked and into a locker room where they could retrieve their own personal clothing they had stripped out of that morning: Dressed, frisked, metal wanded and then allowed into the elevators that would take them six stories to the surface. This theft was not something either of them could have committed alone.
“Alice.” He picked up the report from his desk. “I have a problem… A problem that requires your… Expertise. Two fold… First; all the guard and camera operators for C Complex are to be relieved of duty. You will personally interrogate them and find out which of them took a payoff to look the other way… Our boys, Johns and Kohlson… Both or one smuggled out the virus.” He paused… “It hardly matters in the scheme of things, it changes nothing, but it is the principle of the thing.” He tossed her the report. “Read it… Quartermaster’s office… Handle that too?” Alice nodded before she bent and looked over the thick report. “Second thing is the virus agent, and the REX agents are out there somewhere.” Alice raised her head from the report. “Find it and bring it back?” Alice nodded once more before her head dipped low again; eyes devouring the report. Weston leaned back in his chair, the cigar that was a near permanent fixture in his mouth, rolling from side to side as he closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples. “It goes without saying… They’re all expendable,” he added as an afterthought.
“Sir,” Alice said before she returned to reading.
Ecuador
Jefferson Prescott’s Estate
Wednesday Morning
Andrea Zurita had been alive for the second time for more than three days. The men who had left her body had done so carefully: Senor Prescott would be very angry to find them on his land. Transgressions had been met with violence in the past, the bodies dumped into the ocean.
Andrea Ivanna Zurita had taken I’ll three days before in the small village near to Prescott’s property. She worked for Prescott, someone allowed on and off the property with ease. She had taken ill at work suddenly, no one knew the why of it and her family was poor: A doctor, other than the local clinic, was out of the question. So, she had been sent home to rest, but she had never made it to the local free clinic: She had lapsed into a coma a few hours later and while her family had still been reeling, she had died. No rhyme, no reason.
Andrea Zurita was a young woman, there seemed no reason for her sudden illness and death, but there were things that should be done and so the local Mirukus, shaman had come. A few words, prayers, the shaman was a transplanted Haitian. They understood most of what he said, but not everything. He had left and they had prepared her for burial. She was washed and dressed in a plain white cotton dress. The second day came, and the family came to call, leaving their wishes where she lay in her grandmother’s home. The third day came, and the burial was coming. Cousins, men who worked in a neighboring village, were on the way to open the grave. That was when Andrea had sat up and vomited blood.
Her eyes had rolled back into her head. Her body shaken, but her chest did not rise. She had spoken no words, but she had tried to rise several times before one of the arriving cousins, crossing himself, had bound her with rope, hand and foot. They had sent for the Mirukus again.
The old Haitian had come quickly, taken one look at Andrea and then spoken cryptically, quickly. “Return her to the man that has cast this spell on her. He has bound her to him in life and that has followed her into death. Return her for she is yours no longer.”
The Mirukus believed the white man, Prescott, had attempted to control the river spirit Pullujmu, to take control of the beautiful young woman for his own devices, but she had slipped over into death and was now controlled only by those who controlled the dead. He had left fearfully, quickly and had refused to come back for any reason. With nothing left to do for her they had taken her and left her bound body on the long drive that lead to the Prescott house. The white man may have her, but he would not have what he expected to have.
Jefferson Prescott.
Jefferson watched as the men carefully skirted the body of the young woman in the back of the patrol truck. They had picked her up and, not knowing what else to do, they had bought her to him.
Her eyes rolled in her head, but occasionally they would stop and focus, seeming to stare through him. Blood seeped from her open mouth, staining the front of what looked to be a burial garb of some sort. She was, at first, unrecognizable to him until one of the men told him she was his own worker, Andrea Ivanna Zurita: Kitchen help, among other things, she had been here for more than a year. To Jefferson’s Catholic upbringing she seemed possessed, and he kept his distance as he watched her, perhaps as superstitious as the local shaman had been.
He had eventually made the phone call to the Policía Nacional del Ecuador and left the matter in their hands. He had seen stranger than this in his time in Ecuador and had no doubt he would see it again. He sent one of his men into the small village with a thousand dollars in U.S. Currency, Ecuador had no currency of its own, for her family. A thousand dollars would go a long way for a poor family living in an equally poor village.
His phone had chimed, and he had excused himself to answer it. He was needed back in Manhattan; Ben Neo had found the answers he required. He pushed the problem of Andrea Zurita from his mind and concentrated on plans to leave that evening and return to Manhattan.
The Policía Nacional del Ecuador had come some hours later, taken her off his hands without question, as though they saw this sort of thing every day and he had never heard another thing about it or given it another thought. He had taken his private helicopter back to the United States later in the day as though nothing of any significance had occurred.
Manhattan
Wednesday evening
“You have a beautiful view, Mr. Prescott,” Ben Neo said. He stood on the balcony of the top floor of Prescott’s building which was his home in Manhattan and where his wife and two daughters lived full-time.
“I am rarely here,” Prescott said. “But I do enjoy the view when I am. My wife and daughters seem to like it too. My eldest daughter, Lita, seems to enjoy it more than my wife Esmeralda or my youngest Mia.” His eyes slid to Carlos who met them with his own. “But we’re working on that, aren’t we?” His comments seemed directed a Carlos. Carlos nodded. Not sure what he should say or do. “We are,” Prescott said. He sipped at his drink. “Are we all set for tomorrow?” he asked Carlos?
“We are,” Carlos said. “We’ll drive back to Rochester later tonight.”
“You own a home there?” He turned to Neo.
“Yes. Everything is there; we’ll take it from there to the meet in Watertown. Carlos will go with that, I’ll pick up the cash and then meet your guys there,” Neo said.
Prescott nodded. “It seems like Tommy, and I should just dispense with all the drama and just deliver the stuff directly to each other,” he said. He laughed, “But that would put both of you out of a job. And there are so many things I can’t handle as well or don’t have the time or inclination to handle, as well as you two.”
He was interrupted by Carlos’ cell phone ringing. Carlos’ dark face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he said, obviously not about to answer it. He fumbled it out of his pocket ready to shut it off.
“No, no,” Prescott said. “We were done. Take your call. It is all right, Carlos. Take it out here on the balcony. Benjamin and I will give you a little privacy… Won’t we, Ben?” he asked.
Ben nodded and they both stepped through into the living room and pulled the sliding glass door shut.
“Hello,” Carlos said, obviously upset. He listened. “I cannot believe you called me here,” he said. His voice was high and panicked. “Are you crazy? Did you know he was here with me? Right here with me? He is in the living room separated by a few pieces of glass. You are crazy. Crazy,” he took a couple of deep breaths while she spoke. “No… That is even crazier! While he is right here? Meet you with him in the house? Are you trying to get me killed…? No? It seems as though you are… It does… No… How…? How will he not know?” He listened for a few minutes glancing nervously through the glass, but Neo and Prescott stood with their backs to him over by the bar.
“Lita,” he said at last, “I will meet you… Nothing else… I have to leave later on…”
She continued to talk.
~
Ben stood silently drinking his drink. The two voices came clearly through the small scanner behind the bar. They listened to the conversation between Lita and Carlos.
“Did you know, Ben that they were simply radio signals, and they can be picked up easily?” Prescott asked.
“Yes… I did… Although I did not realize it could be done this easily,” Neo said.
“Cheap frequency scanner. I only need to know the frequency.” He sighed. “I’m sorry you are a witness to this embarrassment. I treated him like a son… She is my daughter. He has obviously corrupted her… Take him down through the basement, leave that way… Bring me back what I requested, Ben. I would almost do it myself; right now, but I will not bring murder into my home… Call me?” he asked.
Neo nodded. It was obvious that the conversation was over. Prescott reached behind the bar and flicked off the scanner. He pulled his phone from his pocket and punched in a number.
“Yes… Bring Mr. Neo’s car to the basement elevator… Thank you.” He hung up just as Carlos came back in through the sliding glass doors, rubbing his arms.
“A little cool, eh?” Prescott asked.
“A little,” Carlos answered. “About the phone call,” he started.
Prescott held up his hand. “Not necessary. Besides, we have had a change in plans. Ben here, along with you, will drive back now. A little earlier than we planned, but apparently Mr. Neo needs to take care of something for Tommy this evening… So… You, see?” He shook Neo’s hand. “Your car is waiting at the basement entrance.” He looked to Carlos, but his face was a mask: Unreadable. Carlos said goodbye and followed Neo to the elevator.
On the road
The idiot lights came on: Ben’s Ford bucked twice and then died. Carlos looked over from where he had been watching the lights of Manhattan slip away. They were in an abandoned industrial area on their way across the city.
“Not good,” Carlos said. “Especially here.”
“Hopefully it’s not a big deal,” Neo said. “And who would be stupid enough to mess with us?” he asked. He laughed and Carlos joined in. “I think it’s a loose wire. It happened once before,” Neo said. He coasted the car to a stop and shifted into park. He reached down, pulled the release handle and the hood popped up.
“With all the money you make. You should buy a better car,” Carlos said.
Neo nodded… “Too cheap, I guess. Will you pop that glove box and see if there’s a flashlight in there? Should be.”
Carlos searched briefly and pulled out the flashlight, held it to his chin and turned it on. He laughed. “Makes me look like a dead guy,” Carlos said and laughed again.
Neo nodded. “Come and hold it for me and we’ll get this baby fixed and be on our way.”
They both climbed out and walked to the front of the car. Neo popped the second hood latch and pulled the prop rod into the air. “Back here,” Neo said. He pointed to a block of wires and one loose red wire that had pulled free. “I knew it,” he said. “Hang on, let me get the tape. Fix it a little better this time,” Neo said. He ducked back into the car and Carlos stood holding the flashlight and thinking to himself; wishing he could have met Lita, but glad that he had not, if Prescott ever found out he would be a dead man. He felt the car shift as Neo got back out and came around to stand beside him.
“Hey?” Neo said in a soft voice.
Carlos looked over at him.
“It’s not personal. I would have done her too,” Neo said. His hand came up fast and he shot Carlos twice between the eyes before he could say anything. Carlos dropped straight down: Folding up as he went. Neo shot his hand out and snatched the flashlight out of the air before it hit the ground. He bent down and checked the pulse at the side of Carlos’ neck to make sure, but Carlos was gone. The silenced 22 was perfect. Not enough velocity to exit the back of his head, just enough to kill him dead. He walked around to the back of the car.
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Posted on April 18, 2024 by dello
Reset: Onset. Set in a world ravaged by a Zombie Apocalypse, Reset follows the harrowing journey of survivors as they struggle to stay alive. If you’re looking for a thrilling series to binge-read you’ve found it. #Horror #Apocalyptic #Dystopian #Zombie https://1l.ink/3FBCKX6
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Posted on April 14, 2024 by dello
The street that I grew up on.
The house is the house we grew up in. We played tackle football on that road.
Baseball in that gravel lot in the picture above, which is directly across from our house.
The little white building pictured above? That was Major’s Market. If you had a quarter, you could get a sixteen-ounce Coke, or Pepsi if you prefer, or DR Pepper as I preferred. You could also get a large candy bar, and a handful of penny candy. All for that quarter. We used to love to walk down to Major’s Market and spend our money.
We used to get up on the roof of that red building, which is a lumber storage barn, with a neighbor’s ladder to get our baseballs a few times a week. There would usually be three or four along with someone’s kickball, football, or basketball. The tackle football was a sometime thing. The thing being it never lasted long before someone got pissed and got in a fight. It hurts to be tackled on pavement. But once we walked about a mile to play football on the lawn of a church, and when we got there a funeral started and the minister told us we’d have to leave. So, we just played in the street. You didn’t have to worry about traffic, yes, all the families’ owned cars, but most of the dads were never around, so the cars weren’t around much either. You could play for a good two hours and never have a car come along. And if one did? Well, I hate to say it, but we weren’t so quick to get out of the street. After all it was our street, our neighborhood, go drive somewhere else. And, as I mentioned, it wasn’t likely to be anyone from the street.
The blank area that looks like an old driveway full of bushes, is where the railroad tracks ran behind the lumber company. It doesn’t look like much now, but that was our private park back there. There were four tracks, three of them almost dead, one that ran from north into the city. The whole area was overgrown, and I think every kid on the block had a fort back there somewhere. Also, the trains used to stop there to pick up lumber, and or drop lumber off. So, there were huge concrete loading docks that we could survey our kingdoms from.
Most of us boys used to go camping every weekend. That area in back of the lumber company was a great place to leave our bikes. It was our neighborhood, and kids for blocks around knew it. Nobody who wasn’t from the neighborhood went in there, so your bike was safe for the weekend. Leave the bikes, jump up on the rails and start walking north, balancing on the rail, toward Black River (Where I now Live).
When we hit the small village of Huntingtonville (Above today: The old railway tracks have been converted to a trail walk that goes out of Watertown all the way to the village of Black River) we could fish, swim in the Black or both. There was a dam that many of us balanced across the top of to make our way to a small island in the middle of the river. It was an abandoned island. And we explored every inch of it at one time or another.
We would find a place to camp out. Either a farmer’s field, or somewhere in the miles of forest that surrounded the Black, and even a long stretch of land that followed the riverbank. Flat but isolated. It had once been a railroad bed, abandoned for years.
Sunday afternoon we were back on the tracks, balancing our way back to Olive Street, pick up our bikes (That way we didn’t have to go home) and head for Thompson Park. Walk those bikes up two miles of hill, hit the top, turn around and ride like the wind down off the park hill. If you hit the lights right, or dared to run them, you could coast all the way to the public square in Watertown. After all it was Sunday, everybody else was at church. We would end up at the First Baptist Church on the Public Square (A new England town square). I knew my sister was inside. I of course was a rebel and so I went to Catholic church sometimes with dad. Given a preference I’d rather go camping though. But that is the same sister that got me to love God by giving me a cassette tape (Jesus Christ Superstar).
Then I had an accident and met God. Then two years on the street, addiction, alcoholism, running away from life, family, God. But life eventually got me back to that connection I had lost. The house looks a little different. The neighborhood a little rougher, if that is even possible. Somebody turned the little market into an apartment. And the city ripped up all the tracks that we used as our own private path to the entire world. But even if the pictures are different from what I remember, I still feel that love for those days when I look at them, Dell.
Books I have written using my hometown as a backdrop (Renamed to Glennville NY)
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