Blogs

Sheriff Brown and Dr. Allen sat on the banks of Claire Creek fishing. Well, not so much fishing as drinking, while their poles rested on a pair of rocks at their feet, lines dangling in the water. Sheriff Brown dropped his empty can of Guinness back into the cooler and pulled out a fresh one, his fifth, the Doctor was still working on his third. He opened the can, smiled at the whoosh of nitros being released as if it were the sound of lullaby, took a long pull, whipped his mouth and cleared his throat…

They rode in silence for a few minutes, the geriatric car slowly climbing the dark mountain road. Headlights illuminating ochre rock spires to their right. In the distance to their left could be seen the lights emanating from Claire Creek; traffic lights blinking, kitchen lights …