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Apples and Coffee Ch. 2
April 6, 2020
"Banjo... Baaaanjooo." McCaffery's voice is low and quiet in my ear. "WAKE UP!" I sit up, clipping myself on his eye glasses.
"AhhhhhRRGGG DAMN!" I yell as my hand lowers from my face covered in blood. My head is still pounding with a drunken after taste... how long have I been asleep...
"Wake up princess," McCaffery says, his Irish accent hardly recognizable. "I have your bail."
"What do you mean bail?" I say confused. "The judge..."
"Please. Judge Anderson's my fishing partner; I can always pull a few strings," he says with a small grin. "Got you off on account that I need your help with a case. Down about 100 miles a little town called-" he pulls out a slip of paper I notice it's stained with coffee, a deep brown coffee with a distinct rich smell.
"Lynchburg," I say in a bored tone. "That type of coffee isn't sold here, That would explain why you weren't at the trial yesterday... or was it today?"
"Banjo, I'm really not in the mood. You're coming
Apples and Coffee Ch. 1
April 5, 2020
Once upon a time... wait no. Hmmm... Once there was... no that's wrong, too.
Where to begin...
I guess the beginning will do.
This is the story of two men, who never should have met. This is the story of their adventures, this is the story of my best friend and, well, me.
This story begins before I met my friend, Kits Clevér.
"Banjo Hayworth!" the judge yells in a stern voice "Approach the bench." I walk slowly toward the judge's bench being careful not to fall, my eye forced closed by swelling and still a little drunk from the night before.
"You stand trial here for acts against the state and its protectors." The judge leans forward and I can smell a small hint of peppermint which makes me gag a little. "You have been convicted of drunken and disorderly conduct, driving under the influence and without a legal license. Do you except these terms?"
"Yes, your Honor," I say with a little slur when my tongue decides to stop working.
"With a plea of guilty and
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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