Moonchasers and Other Stories
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These stories are, at least in an oblique way, a record of my time on the planet.
A lot of the people you’ll meet here, I’ve known in life.
The dwarf woman of “The Wind from Midnight,” for instance, is a dwarf woman I used to work with in a hotel. At day’s end we frequently pushed a pint of cheap bourbon back and forth, a forlorn pair of scared drunks. She died long ago, when we were young. I still occasionally visit her grave and talk to her. She was a lovely, endearing woman.
The hero of “Moonchasers” is a kid I grew up with, one who, at fifteen, knew more about honor and wisdom than I know today.
The old man in “Render unto Caesar” did in life what he does in my story — walk around the neighborhood looking for dead cats, which he then gave decent burials. A strange old guy, to be sure, but a profoundly decent soul for all his oddness. And, yes, the young woman existed, too, and her husband really was that violent with her.