Earl sat slumped in his rusty deck chair, an old 12 gauge resting in his lap. Before him the backyard he used to spend every Saturday tending to lay overgrown and ramshackle. He snapped a king of beers cleanly from the sixpack under his chair. His daily ritual had begun.

From deep in the yard Earl heard the meow of the neighbor’s scabby black cat. A gnarled rose bush rustled by the patchwork fence. Earl thumbed the safety on his shotgun and got to thinking….

I’m writing a series of short pieces at the moment to try to flesh out some characters to use in longer works later on. Last night after a couple of drinks I met Earl. It’s early days but I think I already love him. Well, not love him exactly. I think I will love making his life a living hell is what I mean.

I’ll keep you updated on Earl’s progress, or lack there of, soon.

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