On my 64th birthday I bought a shotgun with enough rounds to clear the streets of New York. Things were getting bad. If I didn’t get out of the city now, I was never getting out of here. Thankfully I have two plastic jugs on moonshine. They would help get me close to the Mississippi. After that I was on my own.”
The draw of the brokehead on the other side of the Hudson was enough to confirm, “If I can make it to here, I can make it to anywhere.”
There will be no cars.
There will be no planes.
My feet will get to the Pacific.
From there I’ll get home somehow.
To Siam my family and lao-khao.
In moonshine, more truth.
The opening to my new novel
NO SCREAMS AT THE END
