Chapin City Blues

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

“You ever get tired of being this way kid?” his voice mocks me. “You ever just want to quit?” “Why quit? We’re just getting started.” The smoke of burning rubber fogs the empty street. In the distance, their taillights are swallowed by the void. They’ll come back. They always do. “Yes, whenever you need them …

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“It’s a fucking ziggurat,” Mackie spits out. “Look the way it towers out of fucking nowhere.” Anderson just smiles through bloodstained teeth. The three of them, some psychotropic fight club, had been at it for hours. At the penultimate round, Anderson reached around the poor fuck’s neck and sunk his teeth in. Moves like that …

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Last night’s post is my last “real” post of the year. It’s a better, less raw, version of an earlier-but-now-deleted post. It’s not a secret how terrible second half of the year has been. From not getting the position I wanted to the devastating loss of three beautiful people. Not that the first half wasn’t …

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God sits at the end of the bar, nursing the strongest whisky he can muster. Boozed breath evaporates sobriety the moment I walk into the place. God isn’t a man, though he prefers the male pronouns. He isn’t a woman, either. He isn’t much of anything. Just an idea that we all have regardless if …

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