Chapin City Blues

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

I had that dream again. The crescendo heard a world away – Mackie awoke to the sound. Sweat – cold? – slicked his body. Beside him, Angel – who slept soundly even during the loudest storms – traversed parallel dimensions. Cobey should’ve called by now. Autumn was in the distance, Mackie saw looking out the painted window. …

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In rapid succession. A thumping. A marching bad. The sound of marching horses. The wind funneling through the woods. The thunder of the earth shaking. The summer storm pushing closer. My eyes welling. Fundamentally Loathsome Waking up is too much of a chore. The world is dreary. Fuck the world. Fuck the people who make …

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“Why do you say such a sad, depressing thing?” she asks. The words fall from my lips because if I say them aloud, I somehow validate my fears. Sad, depressing things, however, have been my life’s bread and butter. I didn’t get this far being cheerful and optimistic. Lately, though, I don’t know. A new …

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I can’t quite place my finger on it. It’s a touch from some distant, long-time lover come back after a long hiatus. The sweet caresses of a lover’s lips upon the skin. It is the sun radiating off the morning dew upon my once playground. It is the cool breeze after a long day of work. The scent …

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