FACING THE INEVITABLE

It sat hard, motionless. At times benevolent. At times cold Statistic hungry for eats. Frank stared at it hibernating on the coffee table. Outside? Still air, sound of big rigs in the background.
Frank ran grainy, yellowed films of partisans being shot by the Bolsheviks in 1917 Russia.
What happens when you die? How many con men had he heard on boarder stations XERF, XEMO and XLO. Send your money to Brother Rosie or Reverend Ike and go heaven. Frank had is own way of going there and it was free. “Franks Plan For Living On Nothing.”
Frank bolted off the bed grabbed his 21 and ran out from a the down the Medicaid, aluminum and wood death chamber.
He knew he’d do it someday, blow his brain wide open like pieces off lobster on the half shell. Today wasn’t the day. Instead, he sat on an rusted fuel barrel head supported by odd-job fingers with torn flesh and both real mineral and manufactured crap; tucked under his finger nails. Tears like large, wet balls began to roll down his cheeks.
Where had he gone wrong?
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More Frank To Come!

A well known TV person came up to my wife Mary, and asked why “no Frank!” I’ve had som much trouble with this crazy web site and IPad.

Hang tough. I’ll get this deal figured out. Now you know what I’ll be doing this weekend.

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The Big Change

Here’s the deal. They went and changed everything on this site,might now I can’t figure out how to do the simplistic thing.

So if you use WordPress and want to help get in touch with ASAP!

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Hey Bristol!

The internet is mind blowing thing. However, it can be the worst high tech fuckup in the world. Yesterday, I got a hit from a guy in Bristol, England!

I went to his sight.”Fire Arms.” no, I don’t have a URL, so you’ll have to Google it.

If your in Bristol, how about another flash out?

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Soul Rain

It sat hard, motionless. At times benevolent. At times cold Statistic hungry for eats. Frank stared at it hibernating on the coffee table. Outside? Still air, sound of big rigs in the background.
Frank gazed at it. In his head he saw grainy, aged, yellowed films of partisans being shot by the Bolsheviks.
What happens when you died? How many con men had he heard on these boarder stations XERF, XEMO and XLO. Send them money go to heaven. Frank had is own way of going there it sat on the coffee table a steel eyed and ready.
Frank bolted off the bed, palms sweating and ran out from a the run down aluminum and wood death chamber. The gun sat in the trailer. He planted his feet on the ground. Streams of sweat poured out of him.
He knew he’d do it someday, blow his brain wide open like pieces off lobster on the half shell. Today wasn’t the day. Instead, he sat on an rusted, used fuel barrel his head hanging down, tears started to pour out like desert rain.
Frank knew taking his own life wold do nothing. It’d be like taking a red flame and smoke driven train to hell; your fucked up, emotional luggage coming ridding with you
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TWO ONE ONE

Saturday, Frank was in a dark, mood. Hunger ran wild like a wolf its tongue out and dripping, gnawing on Frank’s intestines. Places off the interstate and highways were packed with Lot Lizards, grifters and confidence types, you had to be careful. Yanking his beat down, his early model Chevy Impala desert crawled in to Porky’s Shank’s Fatty Burger. Food was okay the Ice cold beer and the dim roadhouse bar were even better. Frank stuck his snout in the iced beer. He drank until he felt a pair of eyes pasted to the back of his head. It made Frank nervous, annoyed. He didn’t have any enemies. He had done his fair share of grifting and conning along Hwy 62, however no one really knew him. He did things like drive in to Twenty Nine Palms and back for a freight company. No one had ever been to his room at the Del’s Deluxe Motor Inn.
He moved in. She was an alcohol blown blowzy blond with chipped red finer nails.
“Hey man, a couple of beers here,” Frank yelled slapping his palm on the bar.
Her hand shot up. “could you make mine a Vodka Gin Tonic.” After six rounds of drinking, they both were getting smashed. Frank got nervous maybe his prick would be as playable as chewing gum.
“You don’t even know my name,” her tongue struggling in a sea of drink.
” Sherry, Larry, Chemical Sue? What the hell does it fucking matter.”
“You got it, honey it’s how I like it babe.”
In the gravel parking lot Frank glanced back saw the red PBR sign. He felt someone there; and there was. Now he got it! It was one of oldest falls in the world, the two on one double. No violence money–your money.
In the car he felt the emotionless snake pushing on his ribs and it pissed Frank off.
“Try anything except driving and you’ll find out how well, Frank felt a jab in his right side, and you’ll know how well daddy’s pet can bite,” the man hissed smelling of drink and bullshit aftershave.
The car hit an uneven patch of interstate it jumped widely on the uneven pavement. The three occupants jolted side to side. The car bumped left and Frank caught a break. He popped opened the passengers’ door by hooking his finger around an old coat hanger and with his right leg he pushed his two passengers out the car door eating payment. Then gun was left behind in the struggle. Frank stopped the car and backed up. He came to a halt where the man who tried to rob him lay and blew off hisknee caps. Frank threw it in gear and drove off hunting for a cup of coffee..

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Music

Reaching for the bread from the toaster, Frank’s fingertips burned a tinge of red. Hot musical notes struck Frank’s brain in the color red.

Taking a gulp of whiskey, he buttered his toast, blew on his fingertips. Glad he didn’t have to play a complete symphony with those babies.

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