Chapin City Blues

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

Never been the spoken wordsmith. These things take time, I suppose. There was a plan, and the plan didn’t pan out. Not like I could say anything before the trip, and after it just felt too cliche. It’s a practice, getting the right words down. As a child, I practiced every syllable in the mirror. …

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We reach an age, I’m sure, where we look back on our life and ponder the things we could have done differently. There’s probably an appropriate age to do this, but I’ve been doing this my whole life. It’s the curse of this anxiety ridden body. Wondering if missed opportunities may have paid out better …

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Fake ID, all access party. The bouncer at the door didn’t give her a second glance. Though, everyone could tell he wanted to. She admired men who stuck to their guns. Placed their responsibilities above their animalistic desires. She dressed to the nines, nightclub royalty. Short skirt, blood red stilettos. Men old enough to be …

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She meets me halfway as she hurries off to her break. I’m coming downstairs from a meeting during which I could hardly keep my eyes open. She’s pulling something from her Bag of Holding and hands it to me, “Happy belated birthday present. It’s to feed your addiction.” A Barnes & Noble gift card. I …

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