A Writer's World


Butch drove a classic Chevy Bel Air, one of those old school convertibles, pitch black in color. The car was illegal of course, no one was allowed to own a private vehicle in the city, but Butch told me that no one dared to take on the Bel Air; it was much faster than any cop car. He pressed on the accelerator, the motor roared into the night as we rolled towards Creekwell City. The mission was simple, The Doctor asked us to go pick up Steve Miller and The Painter from the dive-bar, drive to the old glass factory on the outskirts of town, and meet up with a man who’d give us a package to be delivered to The Doctor. I rested my back on the leather passenger seat, the cold air blew so hard on my face that it made me squint. It was my first…

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