Mikal Ritko traveled alone. Things had gotten out of hand. Bren was abducted and killed by Fussell Duware. Ritko should have killed him years earlier.

Gus had jumped the hospital and fled with Jimmy. They likely drove west toward a story that would end badly for someone, maybe even them.

Agent James was dead in the door of the ER in Andalusia. Duware was good at his job and willing to do anything to get the job done. Anything.

In this case, dressing like a woman and shooting Agent James in the unpleasant daylight. It piled up in his head, ugly and unorganized.

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(Warning: Contains rock lyrics from 40 years ago)

Some music goes beyond the sound that comes out of your speakers. From time to time, these sounds define a cultural or political movement. In a few cases, they become the soundtrack for a generation.

Neil Young wailing, “four dead in Ohio,” still conjures memories of a black and white photograph of a young girl on one knee, panic stricken, next to the face-down body of a student shot dead by the National Guard at Kent State.

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The Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue came out a week or so ago. I was buried in work the day it curled up in my mailbox. My wife and daughter grabbed it before I could see any painted body parts. They seem to enjoy it more than I do, albeit they use it for a different purpose. They actually look at the swimsuits.

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We’ve all done it. Filled the little square on Facebook with vacuous gibberish, then hit “comment.” I won’t use any examples here, go to your Facebook page and you will see for yourself. No shortage of mindless ramblings that serve the basic intent of saying, “Hey, I’m alive. I made it through this crummy day. Just wanted everyone to know the emptiness in my head is worth sharing as much as my love for arcane references that make me appear smarter than I really am. Or cooler, which is the real intent. (more…)

We all have to be something. Aries, Tarus, Winnebago. I am a Sagittarius. I have never put even a remote amount of faith into such things. I’ve always figured our fortune was guided or blunted by our own actions, not the stars. In the last year, however, I have started regularly reading my horoscope in the local paper. (more…)

The Super Bowl is Sunday. It is a big deal for football, entertainment, advertising and Saints fans. If you enjoy the NFL, thank Steve Sabol. His stories created it.

Sabol is 67 now. He became famous by turning football into art (according to Joe Posnanski in Sports Illustrated his week). It is a great story if you haven’t read it in the Scorecard section. (more…)

Have you seen the commercials for Chantix? It is a smoking cessation prescription medication. All of these pharmaceutical commercials have a long recitation of side effects and warnings. We have heard them for years: constipation, nausea, gas, etc. Everything on the shelf has those side effects. But anxiety, panic, aggression, anger, mania, suicidal thoughts, hostility, agitation, vomiting, abnormal sensations, hallucinations, paranoia, or confusion, life-threatening skin reactions seems a little weird. Then I read this one: You may have vivid, unusual, or strange dreams. (more…)

During the holidays I was hit by a moment of revelation while watching Bobby Bowden coaching his last game at Florida State. After his final win, he gave a press conference. He was classic Bobby B. I flipped channels and there was Paula Dean on the Food Network. That is when it hit me; Paula Dean is Bobby Bowden in a wig. They both have the same face, accent, voice, mannerisms and enthusiasm for their profession.

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Sail Cat Road, the sequel to No Good End, continues below. It is being posted tweet-by-tweet daily on Twitter (http://twitter.com/ttaylordude). I will post each chapter here (in chronological order). Thank you for your time.
A breeze raked a fallen pine fan across the roof. In the distance, beef cooked on a grill, the aroma following the wind.

Shewl Gantt met her brother at the door of the rancher outside Lafayette. Dr. Barrow hugged his sister. Gerald Gantt stood at the door. Jolene waited beside the car, hesitantly. Shewl looked at Jolene and her face broke into a look somewhere between a smile and shock. Jolene was like a mirror to Shewl’s past; the eyes, the mouth, the mannerisms, the way Jolene stood in the freshly mowed grass. (more…)

When I was growing up, we weren’t exactly wealthy, to say the least. For entertainment during the holidays, my family (and sometimes friends) would brew up a Thermos of strong coffee, pile into the old Bel Air, fog up the windows, and ride around Montgomery, Alabama looking at Christmas lights and decorations in the nicer neighborhoods and a Normandale, a legendary shopping center (at the time) and the absolute coolest place during Christmas. Gas was cheap so this was the next best thing to free entertainment besides perusing the Sears Christmas  “Wish Book” catalog – which many poor Southerners called (along with the Bible) the “good book.”

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Is it just me, but on Facebook, there seems to be a lot of fan pages, but not a lot of active fans? Your friends are pretty engaged. They post stuff and make comments and toss pics up. But on fan pages, there seems to be less engagement. Perhaps it is because everyone wants to have friends. But who wants to hang out with a company?

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Chapter 16

Popping sounds came from relaxing metal under the pecan tree. Jimmy and Gus found no more drivers licenses. Gasoline soaked the earth.

“You’ll want to walk back to the truck,” said Jimmy. “I’m going to roast some pecans.”

Gus walked back to the truck knowing what he meant. Jimmy did not smoke, but he always carried matches in case he needed to start a fire. He walked to the edge of the gas-soaked grass. Gus saw the match ignite in Jimmy’s cupped hands, then he dropped it. An orange swoosh raced across the ground towards the wreck. When it reached the twisted gas tank, a ball of flame plumed into the pecan limbs, crackling and hissing as it cooked the tree and the car. Jimmy shielded his face and studied the roiling fire, then turned and walked back to the truck where Gus stood. (more…)

Speaking of credibility:

I love college football. Always have. But there are parts of it that chew at me. This is one of them:

Blogs are usually short, pithy, quickly-read, Seth Godin-ish snippets of 400 words or less. If the blog goes longer than that, experts advise you to break up your verbiage with subheads or lists. The things I mostly write here would often be considered short stories instead of blogs. And while most of these stories are longer than proper blogs, there is a sneaky component to my stories. I’ll use the last one as an example. It was titled Police Scanners, Y’all. In examining this blog, I managed to include several words that improve search engine optimization significantly.