For the last fifteen or so years I've been living with a bunch of dead guys at a motel in West Texas. Like the characters in my stories, I'd really like to move on, see the world, go places. But I'm just like them. Anchored by love, worn down by circumstances and fascinated by how much there really is underneath it all. So I keep writing their stories and tell myself that someday, when I've got this all out of my system, I'll write deep, meaningful literature about... something else. In the meantime, this is a place for the short attention spanned. I'm making a commitment to keep it small here. Flash fiction and scenes from the life inspired by, The Bella Vista Motel.
Slappy didn't like to admit it, but the new maid seemed to be working out okay and it was a relief to have some help. As soon as Rosa got to work, he and Madge could see she was a better bargain than her sister had been, so just to be on the safe side, they took care to keep room number 12 locked up and not let her in there. Madge insisted the girl get to stay in the room right next to the lobby and was very mother hen about her, even going so far as to take her on a shopping trip to San Angelo when she realized the poor kid only had the clothes she'd arrived in. They had a lot to do to get ready for the guys that were on their way from the city. From what Slappy could find out, there had been trouble between the Boss' guys and some other gang of Irish bastards from Boston, some of the Micks got nicked in a fairly ugly way and now some guys had to come lay low to avoid an all out war. Listening to the reports on the radio about Poland falling to the Krauts, Slappy couldn't help thinking the world would be a better place if guys would just stay in their own neighborhoods, and keep their noses out of other guy's business.