Wings

Randy Mack lived on a cliff that overhung the lip of Pine Street where ol’ Spivey’s Barber Shop used to be. He lived on a dream at the corner of Pine and the local fish fry where Arney, the town crazy, stood with a sign “Walk, don’t walk. It’s up to you.“ The carpet beneath Randy Mack’s feet were the impossible words that he lived by, his self-delusions, and he was headed for a fall.

He was cool as a lick of ice and rattled like a viper. His wily words drove the women wild. Free from the encumbrances of employment, he lived on the weakness of women who depended on men for their beauty.