One trip I went down and told him I was inbound. He drove three hours from the northern point in Florida he was staying in to visit me at the very edge of the world. As a reward for his travels, the first thing we did was sat down to have espresso at an outdoor mall. Here we discussed the world, then we went to see someone else’s world inside a movie theater.

The movie was so bad we were out of the theater quicker than we had finished the espresso at the coffee place across the plaza ten minutes prior. I floated the idea of going to the five-star hotel down the road, the one right up against the coast with the massive fountain. Here we could have cigars outdoors, at the side of a fountain. Here we could be within a sea of other drifters from distant shores, and here would be where my words would be vulnerable to his.

There was a novella in the works for a while on my end, an homage to pulp type science fiction which has entertained me endlessly with its sleaze and camp. My inspiration came from the words of others put onto paper, spoken by actors in wild scenarios. In the course of our cigar smoking, I felt an urge to let him into my world as he let me into his world of music. It took courage, but somehow it came up in conversation. I asked him if he wanted to hear me read off the first few pages.

Read them off I did, his review on it meant the world to me. Positive, the first time I had a person look at a piece of fiction I had worked through. That’s all there is to say on that matter, I’d like to believe his opinion was sincere.