Writing Every Day Changes Things…

It’s not the writing that matters most to me. It’s the creating. I like that best. And when I’ve created something I like, I want other people to like it, too.

Writing every day is practise – finding ways to use as few words as possible without changing my idea and hope people get it. To try and get them to see what I see. If only for a little while.

This latest excerpt is the 2nd part of an almost complete re-write of an old story and I really like it.

“She’s not wearing a mask,” Decker pointed out. “And neither are your buddies.”

“We’re at a table,” he said. “Together. You’re alone. At the bar. Put on your fucking mask.”

“What are you? A cop?”

“Yeah, like I’m the fuckin’ sheriff and these are my deputies.”

Decker nodded, looked down at his glass of iced tonic water with a wedge of lime.

“What’s your name, sheriff?”

“What’s that matter?”

Decker sipped his drink and said, “Because my first thought was you guys had the makings of a good band – Three deputies, a sheriff and a whore.”

Two burly, black clothed bouncers burst from the shadows to stop bicep-boy from reacting to the insult.

“C’mon, Decker,” Jimmy said. “You promised.”

“I didn’t do no different than him. Just speaking my mind.”

Decker held up a hand. One bouncer held back bicep-boy with ease while the other went to speak with Decker.

“Yes, sir?”

“Let the guy and his friend stay. Jimmy? I’ll be out in the bus shelter having a smoke. Send a round of drinks over. On me.”

The bouncers escorted the man back to his table of friends at the same time Jimmy brought over a tray of drinks and some appetizers. The “deputies” drank in silence while the girlfriend pretended like nothing happened. The bicep-boy didn’t take his eyes off the door Decker went through to grab his smoke.

“Baby,” he said to his girlfriend, kissing her on the forehead before leaving. “I’ll be back in a bit, okay?”

She waited until he was gone to get up. The deputies all got to their feet, coming to attention like a cadre of soldiers. One of them – they all looked alike to her and couldn’t remember their names. asked where she was going.

Is he Eric? She thought. Or is he Bobby?

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