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Showing posts with the label construction tales

Outlaw stories now on Down in the Dirt...

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Oldies but goodies: Got notified today that two previously published  Bobby Horecka stories will be running again, this time in the May /June 2019 Down in the Dirt literary magazine  Mr. Man Candy | The Legend of Chunk Two of our reader favorites, both on this blog and https://OutlawAuthorz.com   are now part of Down in the Dirt literary magazine!

Mr. Man Candy has gone live across the Midwest...

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Bluestem Literary Magazine, May 2018 is now live, Complete and UNCUT !!!!   You can even hear audio by Outlaw Extraordinaire Bobby Horecka . Mr. Man Candy by BOBBY HORECKA I always take him with a few grains of salt.  Not too much.  I mean, dude’s always been on the rotund side, and he’s got a heart condition, for Christ’s sake.  But don’t take everything he tells you at face value.  You just can’t.  Don’t get me wrong: I love Bubba to death.  Known him for almost ten years now.  Together, we’ve caught rivers of fish, travelled the world, and even started our own construction business.  He’s the type of dude you don’t mind loaning money, the sort of fellow you toss your housekeys and ask to feed your dog while you’re away, and he’s absolutely the type of dude you want at your back in a barfight.  Still, when he called me one day and said he spent the afternoon on his front porch with a Playboy Bunny, I said the first thing that came to mind. “Bullshit,” with th

From an old San Martian: This stings just a bit...

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I was one of several hundred volunteers from around San Marcos and what was then SOUTHWEST Texas State University who pitched in to help build the roughly half-acre children's play area in San Marcos that came to called, simply, Playscape. I hardly claim to know diddly about who did what to whom and for how much: I was blissfully content being invisible right about then. Just as soon stay buried, in fact, under about foot of soil, completely unnoticed. I remember a buddy telling me about it a couple days earlier. I sure wasn't planning on doing any actual work. I was just curious about I might've come. And with not much happening that particular morning (or what little was left of morning, anyway), I decided I'd swing by, check it out, maybe.  It was about noon by the time I got there. Folks were munching sandwiches, blankets spread on the grass like an old-fashioned picnic. Some dude had brought a guitar. He strummed, over under the tree, while this chick

Excerpt: Opening lines from "Finding Nancy," a crime thriller in progress...

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Off to the opening day of spring classes at my job. Finally. Thanks, Inga. Rather than bore you all with more ramblings, I thought I'd share a few lines from another story. I used this one for a reading I gave a couple years back. It's likely become a novel at some point. True crime thriller. It's on the darker side, but hopefully, you'll want to read more. Enjoy... - 1 - Misti comes to just long enough to realize something is horribly wrong. Her head throbs and she’s never known such thirst. She tries to look around, but something covers her eyes and face, making it hard to breathe. She feels her breath blow back against her face, the air hot and still tinged with the wine she’d had hours before. She tries to wipe away the covering, but her hands are bound. So she lies there, twisted and aching, all her weight somehow pressing down on her shoulder and hip. Moving is impossible. Her way-too-tight jeans seem to slice into her midriff, her legs folded uncomf

Excerpt from a piece in progress (Mr. Man Candy)...

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Now before you start calling me a straight up asshole, you’ve got to understand how we two first met. Not that what you might call me matters much. I been called worse. A lot worse. Today, even. If the boot fits, I always like to say, wear that sumbitch proudly. But how we met says an awful lot to how we’ve put up with each other for so long. It says a lot about what makes us tick, how we view the big wide world around us. I didn’t know Bubba at all back then. Seen him around the jobsite a few times, but that was it. We worked different crews in different trades. He was a framer, or carpenter to folks outside the business. Me, I’m an electrician. Were it not for landing on the same floor that particular afternoon—and that dumbass kid—I doubt we ever would’ve said word one to each other. It’s kind of a rule on a construction site: You don’t fuck with other crews and they won’t fuck with you. Makes everything a hellova lot easier, most days. But every crew has its dumbass. Thi