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Twisted Texan: The News Lady and the Chicken

At breakfast we all rested elbows on the simulated wood grain formica countertop of the only Denny's left on the south side of town. You know, that one at Lamar and Grand. It wasnít light yet, and we were coming off a nightmare shift.

Though exhausted I recognized that it was probably not a good idea to talk about what had just happened. Best leave certain things unsaid. continue...


I have a confession to make. Itís not very pretty but itís one I feel I must make public Ė the airing of an old, festering wound which Iíve kept buried in the darkest corner of my soul for far too long now.

In the fall where I grew up, autumns were orange. I mean bright, vibrant orange with variant hues of yellow and red. And the sky was perpetual blue Ė that crisp, cloudless blue like a canopy stretched taught from the Coast Range to the Cascades with no mar or imperfection. And the grass at our place was thick because it was too damp with dew to mow that late in the autumn, in the fall. continue...


"An odd thought popped into my head, for some unknown reason," my old pal Al said, and tilted his beer back to drain it. He tossed the bottle to the floor beside the other empties, then strummed his guitar slowly. A melancholy chord. E-minor, perhaps.

"What?" I prompted, but didn't need to. Odd thoughts were perfectly acceptable between us, almost expected. Certainly encouraged. I found the chord on my own guitar and without speaking we hammered out a riff together, about 16 bars. continue...

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