Chapin City Blues

Writing is writing whether done for duty, profit, or fun.

It’s like Tourette’s for the soul. Three cigarettes down and kilo of blow, the party was only getting started. Henry, we called him Henry then, stood plastered against the wall. Typical wallflower, Henry was. Always smoking his long, skinny joints. Sparked up and ready for some thrill or another, while the girls eye-fucked him from …

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