Some Enchanted Place — Chapter Eight, Part Three

To read Some Enchanted Place from the beginning, click here and start at the bottom I turned back from the lack of Immaculada and gave my nemesis a good, hard stare. He’d delivered his line, but there was no mirth in it. His expression never changed. You could have put him in a window to sell a suit. He was a snake with a conspicuous bulge in the middle — not hungry right now. Still a snake. Always a snake. I crossed a line just there. Angel was right; this place was some sort of mundane house of horrors. Not

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Some Enchanted Place — Chapter Eight, Part Two

To read Some Enchanted Place from the beginning, click here and start at the bottom I don’t know who the Secretary of the Interior is. I don’t know how to hit a curve ball. I don’t know how to do differential equations. I’m not sure exactly where Sri Lanka is, or why they didn’t want to be called Ceylon anymore, either. So maybe in the vast scheme of things, I don’t know very much — but I’m dead certain that if Pecksniff The Amazing Human Cattle Prod sends one more dose of his electricity through me, by turning up behind

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Some Enchanted Place — Chapter Eight

To read Some Enchanted Place from the beginning, click here and start at the bottom What is cowardice? I dunno. My father said it was a kind of vanity. Every coward thinks they’re special. That they’re the very first one to feel afraid. They think that if brave people felt the way they did, they’d never do anything heroic. They figure intrepid people are simply too dumb to be as frightened as they should be. It’s a great way to claim to be superior while cringing in the corner. Well, I always fancied myself smart, too, after a fashion. I

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Juiced Up And Sloppy

Some Enchanted Place is only at the ten thousand word mark, so you’re going to have to buy another book in the interim. I suggest my friend Gerard’s latest project, Let It Bleed. The Rolling Stones. Hmm. Watch carefully children. Nothing up my sleeve… Keith Richards can’t play the guitar. Charlie Watts can’t play a fill. Bill Wyman is a bass owner, not a bass player. Mick Taylor couldn’t hold his liquor, and looks like he’d rather be wearing a tuxedo and playing behind Cliff Richard. What Mick Jagger is doing onstage is what people do to distract you from

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Happy Colon Day (2009)

[We interrupt our regularly scheduled Some Enchanted Place extravaganza to properly celebrate Columbus…er…Colon Day. More SEP after the holiday] I remember Columbus Day because I used to play music in a hundred and one bands anyone that would have me and try to make money to eat and get cigarettes and I don’t smoke and there still was never enough money and I played at a tee-totaling biker association party for two members’ wedding not gay a man and a woman that arrived on a motorcycle with the woman I think wearing a white Wedding Dress and no helmet and

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