The last few weeks have been mad-busy, and I don't see an end any time soon. (Maybe in January!) My plan had been to have Blind Ante ready for beta readers two weeks ago, but instead, I'm still finishing up the epilogue. (And I haven't even looked for beta readers yet!) But I'm close—I can feel it.
Cicada shell. One of many!
For the last few years, Jordan has lived out of his car, a Crown Victoria he calls Vicky. When he wins a beat-up old trailer in a poker game, he thinks he's got it made. Until the other owner shows up:
Jordan’s hands were shaking when he
finally slid into his car. “Shit, Cow, I am so screwed.” He dug around for a
cigarette but all he found was a half-dozen empty packs. He really needed to
give Vicky a good clean. “Fuck it. I don’t want to smell like an ashtray
anyway. After. Then I’ll buy a new pack and smoke them all.” ‘After’ being the
job interview waitress Miranda had arranged with diner owner Tammy. But he
paused and wondered if there was any reason to get a job if he was going to be
homeless and on the road by the end of the day. He stared at the trailer. It
really wasn’t much, but already, when he was inside its tin-can walls, there
was a sense of comfort and security that he’d lost after he left Kansas. Hell, he hadn’t
had either of those things when he was growing up, he admitted to himself. No wonder he didn't want to give it up.
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