!!!NEW!!! Tin Universe #11

Part Four of Hillbilly Jungle brings to a conclusion the story of regular people caught up in the battle between a Godling and a very powerful angry vengeance seeking spirit of Mother Nature.

If you need to catch up on all things Tin Universe check out the Tin Universe blog. Also let me know what you think of any Tin Universe story there or here or by email.

Now I'm off to work on a re-edit of the first Tin Universe story, Stereo. Stereo 2.0 will be released on the 30th of this month, September.

!!!NEW!!! Tin Universe #11

NEW! Quoit #1

Quoit #1

You Pick The Price!

Part one of a sci-fi fantasy story about the peaceful years after a great war and the rumbles of what the future may hold for all who live on Quoit. Read this first story and learn all about what this world holds. 

NEW! Quoit #1

NEW Chaos Read #5

CHAOS READ #5

In Part Four of IN THE PAST the Clark family's normal continues and something is found. Part Four of IN THE PAST, the real insanity is starting. 

NEW Chaos Read #5

April's Free Short Story

What does the year 2013 have to offer the world? 

What does it mean to history? 

Is it the end of history... 

or just another year? 

Hell

A free short story

by Brian C. Williams

April's Free Short Story

Tin Universe #10

!!!NEW!!!

Tin Universe #10

PAYCHANCE OPENING SUNDAY THOUGHTS

Probably the most intense and gut wrenching story I've ever written. And that's just how it effected me. Check it out, its free and please let me know what you think. 

Paychance Opening Sunday Thoughts

a  free short story

PAYCHANCE OPENING SUNDAY THOUGHTS

CHAOS READ TEASER 3

CHAOS READ TEASER 3

CLEAN CUE CITY: PART THREE

Written by Brian C. Williams

Edited by Melinda L. Harold

     Clean Cue city is the capital city of Toriyama.
     Toriyama is one of the primary planets in the Citadel Union Of Planets, (C.U.P.). It is also a hotbed of commerce and tourism.
     All of the historical places of Toriyamain culture are in other cities. Clean Cue City is where you go for hotel nightclubs, expensive stores, and those restaurants where they serve tiny, tiny portions on plates with weird shapes. Nothing from Wal-Mart in those places. The modern part of my brain asked the 21st Century part of my brain, "Wal-Mart?" and I answered, "Chain of superstores? Modern?" Then I responded, "Just wondering, because now Wal-Mart is an Earth military contractor dealing in foot soldier weaponry."
     So visitors from other planets love Clean Cue City. A great deal of the rich aliens and Toriyamains choose it as their place of residence.
     The only inhabitants of the city considered low income are the miners and the cops. They make good money but are still thought of as low income compared to the city's other residents.
     The humans send most of their income back to Earth because the exchange rate there is more favorable.   
     This was due to the fact that Earth was the home of the C.U.P.'s stock exchange.
     The other members of the C.U.P. are Mars, Edgewall, and Fade. Mars houses the C.U.P.s military forces-yeah, fits. Edgewall is home to the government, and Fade is the farming planet. The non-members of the C.U.P. who call themselves Allied Planets United, (sounds like a rugby team). They are many in number and includes Moon Nation(Earth's moon), Venus, Saturn, Mercury, and Jupiter.
     Just to name a few that you would be familiar with.
     Back to humans on Toriyama.
     When you are human and have a day off there are not many activities to choose from. The only reason humans are on Toriyama is to work. You put up with the racism for the high exchange money. You put up with being a stranger in an unusual land for the money. You live in Human Town for a big pay check.
     All over the C.U.P., economically speaking, things are pretty good.
     Oh, and the big pay check humans get on Toriyama is for the most part coming from working in the small Tarceny mine.
     Tarceny is a very powerful fuel mined in small portions in a mine just outside Clean Cue City in the Desert Lands.
     Tarceny is also very much a poison to Toriyamains but it is not harmful to humans. That is why humans are the ones who mine it.
     Honestly, though, I don't even know any other humans in Clean Cue City. Toriyamains and humans are not that different in my eyes but with all the hate out there maybe I'm stupid.
     When I'm not at work, there are only a few other places besides my apartment that I spend time at. One of them is a small Earth restaurant chain called Pink Bomb.
     The name Pink Bomb actually has an interesting story behind it. During the Robot War, Earth was being overwhelmed by the battles there and it was a huge Toriyamain troop ship that brought the help needed to keep Earth in human hands. That ship was nicknamed the Pink Bomb by Earth news agencies because of its color.
     The original owner of the Pink Bomb chain of restaurants was a soldier who stood on a sea vessel while it was under attack. He and others were rescued by a Toriyamain rescue jumper.
     The Pink Bomb is one of the few Earth businesses to set itself up in Clean Cue city and its taking off like hotcakes...which they don't serve there....so don't ask....because I already did.....so I looked stupid for you.....Your welcome.
     They don't sell hotcakes.
     The company already has plans to expand across the planet to other Toriyamain cities.
     At the Pink Bomb you will find my small group of friends.
     The manager of the Pink Bomb is Arika, a former C.C.P.D. officer. He's also my landlord. This man went from making shit money as a cop to mad money owning shit. The guy is smarter than anyone I have ever meet with business decisions. I think my father would have liked him.
     And yes, even on alien planets policemen are underpaid. A little factoid that may be interesting to you is that on Toriyama, sanitation workers are some of the highest paid city workers. They get more than a State   Attorney, Citizen Driving Coordinators, and yes, even jet pack salesmen.
     Getting back to the Pink Bomb. This is a family run restaurant.
     The restaurant's head cook is Arika's brother Masashi. He doesn't talk at all. I don't know if he can.   Despite being a mute and being a little weird, he is pretty cool. The guy loves Earth literature, especially-   Strangers In Paradise. Yeah, a different sort of Toriyamain.
     The Pink Bomb's only waitress is Molly. Kooky how that name exists in both cultures.
     Molly is Arika's daughter and the reason he quit the force. As soon as Molly was old enough she wanted to follow her father and become a cop. Arika knew what life was like as a cop. He didn't want this for his daughter and so he made a tough decision and quit the force, bought a Pink Bomb franchise and hired her at the restaurant. Tradition dictated that she accept his job offer.
     If you are wondering about Molly's mother, most Toriyamain women die during childbirth, something like 74%.
     That's pretty fucked up.
     I have a week off for vacation time so the Pink Bomb will be seeing me a lot.
     When you walk into the Pink Bomb, no matter how busy she is, Molly greets you with a joyful welcome.
     "Your usual booth is open, Garth. Be with you in a few."
     "Thanks, Molly, no rush."
     The atmosphere inside the Pink Bomb is always fun and loud. The laughter of family and friends sharing moments over good food. The chatter between manager, cook, and waitress keeps the operation running along smoothly.
     I love it.
     The place is decorated in faux-Earth style and is a mess of 1950's Americana and Victorian England Englandana...?.
     My regular booth has seats upholstered in Time Magazine cover images. The table is a morgue operating table. The unusual things that come from one culture and are interesting to another without much research about them. I love culture mixes.
     The menus are handwritten on thin parchment enclosed in glass. That's pretty fucking unique considering handwriting is a lost art among Ariyamains.
     The menu items are Earth vegetarian meals using Ariyamain grown plants and fungus. Though to appear accurate they use Earth food names.
     My normal breakfast here is a simple salad. The salad I get isn't even a menu item. During one of the first times I came here I asked for something that wouldn't drive my stomach nuts because I was still adjusting to Toriyamain food. Molly brought me a salad that tasted like a Cesar Salad but without the chicken...Cesar  Salad is supposed to have chicken in it, isn't it?
     God, what a way to end Part Three, a salad question. I'm late with the Part and I end with a salad quesiton, I suck.

(c)Brian C. Williams

SYSTEM*PUBLISHING

CLEAN CUE CITY: PART THREE

CLEAN CUE CITY: PART TWO

Written by Brian C. Williams

Edited by Melinda L. Harold

   The room wasn't filled with tension. OK, it was filled with tension but that was such a cliched way to open the scene. I didn't want to do it but here we are in a sort of rambling mess. I was trying to avoid the way things were going, unfortunately, I found myself just writing to fill up the space. I wanted to make more out of what little I was giving you this week. I just need to let things flow and promise a larger Part Three.
   Enough about that, narrator to the side.
   Two men sat in a small, metal, sound-proof room. Each to one side of a single table placed in the middle of the room. Two figures of authority. One of very high authority. Both are searching for answers but only one is asking questions.
   "Once again, please go over what happened?"
   "I know we have to do this, but can I have a minute to think?"
   "Well, I need to get as much as I can from you while the events are still fresh in your mind."
   "I know, sorry."
   "Just one more time and then you can go home, Officer."
   "How many didn't make it?"
   "Please, Officer, let's keep to the details of the event. You understand why we have to stay focused?"
   "Yes, sorry."
   "OK, once again."
   "It was humans..."

(c)Brian C. Williams

SYSTEM*PUBLISHING

Come back next Friday for Part Three of CLEAN CUE CITY.

CLEAN CUE CITY: PART TWO

CLEAN CUE CITY: PART ONE

written by Brian C.Williams

edited by Melinda Harold

My dad was a truck driver but before that he was a coal miner and before that he delivered pianos and before that he was in the Marines. He served in the Earth conflict called the Korean War but did not talk about it beyond saying, "Death is something that comes easy and that is the tragedy of war." He disliked anyone or anything that glamorized war. It's the reason why I can't stand Hemingway for sure. Every job my dad ever had was not by his choice but by life throwing him a curve ball. One thing he instilled in me was a sense of no matter what the circumstances that life gives you there is no reason to take that harshness of life and make yourself weak by it. No matter what job you had, you had to take it seriously and work hard even if you disliked the work. He also taught me about dealing with others. No matter if the person was a stranger or relative, you had to treat them as if you had known them all your life and they deserved the benefit of the doubt. Now my dad wasn't stupid, he also taught me to stand up for myself in every situation unless taking a little punishment would help out someone else and if fighting would hurt someone innocent. "Bravery can come in not swinging." He threw out words of wisdom that told me there was no such thing as a fair fight and if you weren't ready to hurt someone, whether it was a physical fight or not, you should walk away or in his exact words, "Be ready to kill'em or walk away."

My father was a banker, it being the profession of most of his family ever since Earth became the center of business in this sector of space. Though I was for the most part raised by people not even related to my family, I did learn a few things from my father. He taught me prejudices are very human but very bad for business. He let me know at an early age that you look into and help up the scale of the strengths in others and that was one of the key ways you will gain strength within yourself, "We are always only as strong as our weakest link so you don't throw that link away, that would be the easy way. Instead you make that link stronger because doing so will also make it loyal for the faith you showed in it." Despite using "it" a lot when referring to people, my father was actually a really good man, totally business obsessed, but he knew the strength of the human factor or person factor or people., or...?...what the fuck ever! Once aliens entered the human consciousness, the ability to communicate with other humans became a whole lot more difficult.

During my childhood, my dad drove shipments of goods all over the United States in a 18 wheel gas powered delivery machine while my mom worked as a nurse in a nursing home before becoming a full time mother. They had me late in their lives. She said that time working at the nursing home was her war experience. She saw mans’ inhumanity to man within those walls. From my mom I gained a sense of kindness but also that letting people treat you like shit all the time does nothing for your soul. She was a lonely person in so many ways. Someone who spent a life time letting others win. Though even after saying all of that, my mom was a joy to be around and really loved life when she got the chance to do new things when that opportunity came into her life.

My mother was a Child Supplier. A Child Supplier is a woman who helps the rich to continue their family line if they are going to be the last of their line. The Child Supplier signs a legal document that says this would be her only time she would have a child and would be sterilized afterwards. They get paid a life's wages for doing this but even in this age people see them as sleazy and place them in a social standing outside of the rest of society. Funny that in an age when prostitution is legal giving birth when you choose what been seen like that. This is also the only way a Child Supplier operates legally. Having a child outside of marriage or Child Supplier contract is strictly illegal. Once I was born I never saw my mother and she never saw me. I do think about her every so often but in this instance I block out thoughts about her and only think about my mom.

I was an only child in both of my families so take from that what you will learn about me as things go on.

My families were good people who would help anyone if they needed it so the word hate did not come up that often. I'm a little different from my families.

Lets start with a little egotistic thinking. The thing I hate the most about being Garth Dale is having two personalities...wait, two first names. I hate when my likes and dislikes argue but the whole having two first names thing is really a pain in the ass. It all comes down to paperwork and how transplants are listed in government documents.

The worst thing about moving to another planet is tasting black pepper twenty-four seven. Its not really black pepper you taste in the air but humans can taste a harmless invisible parasite called the Potent.

The thing I hate most about being a cop in Clean Cue City are the Doll Shells. The Music Box gangs, the still at-large Albuquerque vigilante, all are nothing compared to my hatred of the Doll Shells. A Doll Shell is a whacked out rich punk who thought life was boring being pampered, protected, and well feed, an all too typical story throughout the history of many worlds, and so these rich brats illegally paid surgeons to replace their body parts with doll-like artificial bits and pieces.

After the Robot Wars, all artificial replacement technology for non-android races was deemed illegal and an offense to the technology based races.

The replacement parts that the Dolls replace their own body parts with turns them into individuals beyond a normal human or Toriyamain line. Their physical abilities are so enhanced they are no longer classified by Earth or Toriyama law as people but categorized as dangerous weapons. The deep space technology races shoot them on sight, tear them down to little pieces, and send them back to their world of origin. Then again no one goes near the technology races for good reason. We nearly lost that war and I'm so glad I didn't end up fighting in it. Any war that takes out an entire planet on day one is pretty harsh. We will miss you Pluto, they had just made you a planet again and then boom.

Doll Shell's are really creepy looking too, sort of like acid laced Raggedy Ann dolls after years of being lovingly mistreated. Their artificial skin looks loose and seems on appearance as if it was sewed on with thread but actually the skin is bullet proof and the thread is really an almost unbreakable wire. Most Doll Shell's commit crimes because that is the next step in their extreme games bullshit. They start with crazy daredevil stunts, then go on to doing acts of vandalism. After that, they move on to high risk thievery and finally murderous actions. The technology and flesh sides are not meant to work together and the combination drives the brain of the Dolls insane. This is seen by some as more proof that technological life forms and those made of flesh are not meant to co-exist.

The Doll Shell fad has passed but from time to time we still get a Doll Shell. Hell from time to time I still see someone smoking on Earth when I get back for a visit, so some bad things never die out. Most people do not have as strong of a reaction to Doll Shells as I do but then again most people in Clean Cue are not humans. I'm just the lucky one the recruiter asked if I wanted to join the C.C.P.D. to show not everyone on Toriyama are anti-humans. The Ariyama politicians wanted a human detective in their city capital, so here I am the poster boy to try and quell hatred from one planet towards another.

Back to my Doll Shell hatred which right now is for the most part racing through my body because my heart and lungs are about to explode inside me as I chase this particular Doll through the "mean" streets of the city. Nothing pisses you off like someone making you have to run. Actually, in this, its the same way gym teachers and drill sergeants are Satan to many.

This Doll which I'm not gaining ground on was spotted by a door opener, that's doorman in human, leaving the scene of a murder, the murder of a city manager. What he managed I have no idea, I just know that my unit was called to the scene because one of our assigned specialties is Doll Shells and technology based crimes.

I was watching our bikes down the street from the scene of the crime when I spotted the Doll running away. I romote signaled that I was backing out of the location in pursuit and took off after the female Doll Shell. I haven't been able to brain signal my location because I still haven't gotten the nack of brain signaling while running yet. What can I say, I probably couldn't walk and chew gum at the same time either if I tried. It could be the case that my altered brain makes the signal device misfire.

I'm running flat out, dodging traffic, and citizens, trying to catch up with this bastardized bionic Barbie doll with Charles Manson tendencies. My brain pattern transfer from someone born in 1974 makes my culture references very dated. Some of the stuff that comes out of my mouth makes even less sense as I live on a planet with only about two hundred humans in total. Our influence on this culture outside of Keeping Up Appearance being a big hit here is almost unseen.

I gave up on trying to catch the Doll, stopped, and signaled ahead to a Zone Unit to try and bring her in. Then I signaled my unit with my location. I took a seat by a restaurant to try and catch my breath. Even though I had undergone DNA enhancements to at least keep up with Toriyamains, I'm still not the best athlete. On Earth I would have been assigned to a desk job but here...well, here I watch patrol bikes as the real police work happens. Earth police knew this was a bullshit assignment so they sent a brain pattern transplant to do it. The Toriyamain police didn't believe in wasting man power so they assigned me to a unit because, despite me being human, and putting the brain stuff aside, I'm a good cop. I know I will have to earn the respect of the rest of my unit but I am willing to do that.

The other members of my unit, Unit Offerson, arrived at my location in time to have a laugh, inform me of the Doll Shell capture, and tell me I have to walk back for my bike, "That is just the way of the rookie."

Since I'm walking back to my bike and have the time I'll explain the whole "brain pattern transfer" thing to you and we will wrap up part one of this story.

There is this Earth disease called Brain Posting which means a brain can not retain any memories once the person reaches the age of sixteen so the patient is given a brain pattern transfer from old brain tissue files This tissue is actually retrieved from the graves of those who have no family alive to object to the upheaval of their bodies, and the desecration of the remains. The destruction of the remains is required so no two people get the same pattern transfer.

All of that means I contain two sets of memories. Most transplant recipients either turn out to be a genius or a slobbering vegetable. I'm a cop. I'm a police officer on an alien planet...well, that really doesn't apply here since I'm the alien here. I'm just a police officer on another world, yea, that works better. I like it here. My partners in my unit treat me OK, about as good as any newbie would be wecomed into an unit of veterans. I'm the rookie and that's fine with me. I've already settled into my life here and hope everything will go just fine, normal, and easy for the rest of my career.

It would be a boring story for you to read on a weekly basis if that was true wouldn't it?

I guess I just need to prepare for whatever may lay ahead for me.
To fact tomorrow my first vacation starts.

(c)brian c. williams

SYSTEM*PUBLISHING

Come back next Friday for Part Two of CLEAN CUE CITY

CLEAN CUE CITY: PART ONE

NEW SHORT STORY UP AND READY FOR BUYING!!!! BUY PLEASE!!!

FLIGHT OF THE COMING STORM: $2.00

NEW SHORT STORY UP AND READY FOR BUYING!!!! BUY PLEASE!!!

RESOLUTION 1974

Remembering a poem she once wrote.

There are ghosts in the sunshine beading down upon her face,
Whispering spirits brushing against her lips trying to get her to sing,
Her eyes are open to her own death,
Laying in the grass tasting her own breath,
Nothing tastes as fine as saying just what you mean,

The building houses The Teriyaki Club publishing company. The first floor is the P.R. offices, up one and you find the management cubes, up two and there is the art department slaving away, the fourth floor is overloaded with lawyers, and on the top floor are the in-house writers...ok, they have two in house writers and the rest of the space on the fifth floor is crowded with storage boxes but really, what need does a publisher have with writers?
The roof of the building is flat with pebbles all over its surface of tar and metal, two inches thick with pebbles like the bottom of a goldfish's world.
Her boots make the pebbles almost crackle against each other as she walks from end to end, corner to corner, trying to cover the pebbles with the last drops of gas from her truck.
Standing on the edge of the roof she sets off two Zippos. As she steps forward she tosses both of them over her shoulders and as she drifts down onto the fifth floor fire escape the gasoline screams out into the night.
During the trip down the fire escapes which safe haven each floor she knows she now is the storyteller she always wanted to be.
And to the images of the frightened fleeing the building walked out of an alleyway the image of his dream dying. She walked across the street and leaned against the outside of an Army recruitment center.
A character description from the top down as she watches the fire explode in anger as it hits each floor is ear length pink and white hair, skin as white as light, dollar store sunglasses, a black short sleeved shirt covered by a dark brown vest, tattoos of prayers that do down each arm, long nails painted dark blue, black jeans, and black used combat boots.
Here comes the storyteller, the firestarter, the reaper of words. For those with dreams she is the unwanted faith. For those of despair she will turn her head because no martyr will she be to your causes. In time you will call hatred in her face, call hack with shards of glass, and get confused by her rejection of the station. No poet or folksinger, no rock star opera singer, no breast feeding mouth horse will be safe from an interrupted badge. Through extreme teens and devil pockets the fires and stories will burn on.
She leans herself off of the death dealer's wall and turns and walks down the street remembering a poem she wrote.

She rises from the grassy moisture,
She stands on her feet,
She looks into the sky and sees the smokes blackness taking over,
She slowly weeps,
Turning down her eyes she see a pawn walking in opposite of being told,
She is inspired now to be bold,

(C)brian c. williams

RESOLUTION 1974

THE TITLE IS: EASTER SITTING, ON A EASTER CROSS DRESSER

…I’m here at 9am on a Saturday….and some people who were suppose to show did not. How do you think work is?…..

From Work Whining To Responses To Comments Left:

Mar, How am I suppose to answer comments like that? And you can really make a guy want to leave work in one dash of a rush.

As to a e-mail from a reader, and thank you for visiting, who asked do I think I should be allowed to tell Jesus to go fuck himself? Well, I actually said fuck you to Jesus so it is a little different but in fact yes I do think I should be allowed. And in fact even if there was a law saying other wise I guess I would be one of the first to lose his head over something like that. I think when I die and if I meet him he would be way more pissed about how people like yourself treat others than something I wrote in a online blog which is read by about 100 people daily; which in the long run is like whispering something to your next door neighbor and them never repeating it. My religious beliefs and beliefs in general are mine and mine alone and I share what I wish of them but growing up in a family of preachers and being a preachers son who has read and studied the bible more than most who like to spat off at the mouth I will tell you I find love and comfort in those words even if I do not believe all of them as fact. Hell if I know how people like you get what you get from reading it? Hate is hate anyway you wish to decorate and paint it. But then again you stare at the tile floor long enough you can see any pattern you wish to see and if you lie to yourself enough you will believe the lie.

Geek Speak:

As Wave was dancing off into sleep last night I tried to plant a subliminal message for her to stop by the local comic book shop while I was at work for Free Comic Book Day and pick me up some stuff. I will have to see if it worked when I get home.

Back To Reality:

With a strong backtrack to change the beginning because new characters wished to be born I found myself now walking back through the short story adding more substance these new characters bring to the story. They couldn’t show up at the end, No! Just had to be at the beginning. Bastards.

I give you a good night with this.

Written at the pay the rent job,
C.

As always if you have any comments you wish to make by e-mail you can contact me by:

hangofwednesday@gmail.com
If you wish for me to keep your name and information private please let me know so in the e-mail.

THE TITLE IS: EASTER SITTING, ON A EASTER CROSS DRESSER

AND THE TITLE IS: LETS PLAY HIT THE DUMBASS..SORT OF LIKE HITTING THE BARN

……my mother has always told me to watch my mouth or it may just get me into the preverbal hot water…Though at times I don’t care to listen to her……..At times I just gots to say what I just gots to say…at times I’m on the edge and enjoy it….

From Work Whining To Responses To Comments Left:

Yes, Mar as you know better than anyone. I am a geek! As for your second comment…..Damn!

Geek Speak:

And speaking of my geekdom. Here is a Doctor Who taste. Donate people. As someone who could never do without hearing because of my great love for music and sound or do without any of my senses I have no idea how strong people are to live life without one of those things most of us take for granted daily.

Back To Reality:

The short story is playing weeble wobble I won’t fall down with my brain right now because it keeps feeding me with things it needs. And look out here comes back the book for attention.

Sometimes when I’m working on a story I find myself speaking conversation between the characters in moments of mediation. Mostly I do the mediation thing in moments of trying not to show people just how deadly an cell phone could be if hurled in their direction. This conversation of characters or as some may say, He’s talking to himself, helps me get into the heads of the characters. Hardly any of this improv of dialogue gets into the actual stories but it helps me when writing these characters and when I put them into certain situations to see how they would react. The following was a conversation that went on in my head with two of the characters from the short story I’m currently working on when I was taking a break from thoughts of boldly injuring someone,

‘There are those who argue God has destined for the planet to die around us.’
‘And there are those who would argue the best food is Big Mac’s.’
‘How does that fit?’
‘I don’t know but you mentioned religion and I only have two choices. Get some comfort food to take my mind away or find the nearest Southern Baptist church and pay a team of rent a strippers to crash the Sunday morning service.’
‘They have rent a strippers?’
‘No but this is my rant. Go away into your own mycosis.’
‘Your weird. And mycosis does not fit either.’
©brian c. Williams
SYSTEM*PRODUCTIONS

I sort of like that. I might put it in?

I give you a good night with this. A friend of Mar’s and The Queen should like that. But me? I still like my steaks a little red so I can see it was once a living thing....wait, that doesn't fit.....

Written at the pay the rent job,
C.

As always if you have any comments you wish to make by e-mail you can contact me by:

hangofwednesday@gmail.com
If you wish for me to keep your name and information private please let me know so in the e-mail.

AND THE TITLE IS: LETS PLAY HIT THE DUMBASS..SORT OF LIKE HITTING THE BARN

ONCE AGAIN... LET THERE BE LIGHT!

Started a new short story tonight. Have no clue where it is going but so far I am enjoying the dance.
Written from the pay the rent job,
C.

ONCE AGAIN... LET THERE BE LIGHT!