All my poems cry into the wind. All my words … all my dreams … are like leaves in a storm. As I leave her behind, she starts to cry. I’ve never seen her cry. I’ve never looked into her eyes without getting weak in the knees. I’ve never kissed her without chills going up […]
I went off to war at the tender age of sixteen. My mother cried and begged me to stay, but my country needed me. I would not see my mother again for four very long years. Due to my age, I was assigned to field headquarters as a dispatch courier for the first two years […]
It’s been a long haul. A long haul indeed. I’ve been living for so long. So very long. Won’t someone help me on my way? I’m so very tired. I see all the hurt in this here world. I also see the love in this here world. I sure as hell gave my fair share […]
She passed him every day. He was young, well built … and he was handsome. Just her type. She had tried everything to attract his attention. She had dressed provocatively, she had loitered, she had even taken a pratfall hoping he would come to her rescue, but some busybody stuck his big nose into her […]
The Case of the Purloined Goldfish The call came in at 2:35 on a Friday afternoon. My partner and I were jawboning about the up and coming weekend. My partner, Carl Peterson, has been a detective for forty years or so, both as a cop and private. Me? My name’s Herbert Walker. I’ve been a […]
Rosewood is real. Google it. “The first I knew of any trouble was when my cousin Robie and me was playing out in the yard. A carload of white men came down the street. There was so many of ’em in the car they was spilling out, and they was all carrying guns. When they […]
My name is Spade, Sam Spade. Not really … it’s Herbert Walker. I’m a PI, a peeper, a gumshoe, a shamus, a private dick. In other words, a private detective, and I work out of Hollywood. No, not that Hollywood; Hollywood, Florida—although sometimes my business will take me as far afield as Fort Lauderdale. It’s […]
I’ve been running against the wind most of my life. My mother died in childbirth. My father was shot and killed when he accidentally bumped into a drunk in the Alhambra Bar on New Year’s Day of 1886. I was ten years old at the time, and having no siblings or other relations, that left […]
Andrew Joyce 