Georgia on My Mind


Georgia was my girl, she was my love. Georgia was taken from me. She is not of this earth now. Georgia awaits me in heaven.

Georgia was killed by a drunk driver last spring. Now winter is coming on and the murderer still walks the streets. He has money and a very good lawyer. His trial has been postponed repeatedly.

He has money and a good lawyer, but I have my granddaddy’s colt .45. I have decided to be judge, jury and executioner. I have waited long enough for justice.

I have followed him for the last two weeks. He goes out every night to the clubs. He does not drive now. He has a Cuban drive him in his big fancy car; the same car that took my Georgia.

It will be tonight.

As I wait in the alley for him to emerge from the newest, hottest club on Miami Beach, I think of Georgia.

My Georgia was only nineteen when we met. She was in Miami visiting a friend, and the friend suggested that she see Fort Lauderdale before she went home. I was at the bar in The Elbow Room sitting on my usual stool when they walked in. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but that night I had my doubts.

I sat there and looked on as a few guys hit on Georgia and her friend. They all walked away empty-handed. Normally, I wouldn’t have made a move, but something drew me to Georgia.  She was full of life. If I could see someone’s aura, I’m sure hers would have been a light blue, a loving and pure soul she was.

To make a long and loving story shorter, I sweet-talked her phone number out of her. At that point, all I wanted to do was to get laid. But that was before I fell in love with my Georgia.

I called the the next day. We went sailing on my boat. I told her to bring her friend along so that she would feel safe. The three of us sailed the bay and then ate a picnic lunch on Elliot Key. The sun was setting into the western bay as we sailed back.

We hit Dinner Key just as it got full dark. By then I was in love.

My home base is Fort Lauderdale, about two hours up the Intercoastal Waterway.

I asked Georgia to go with me and I would send her back to Miami in a cab. To my surprise, she said yes.

In a cove off of Dania Beach, we anchored and made love. The sweetest most loving love I have ever known. From that moment on, she was “My Georgia”.

She flew home, settled matters and came back to me. We had two years before she was murdered. In those two years, I learned how to love another human being. I learned of tenderness. My Georgia taught me of love. And because of My Georgia, I will kill a man tonight.


It is coming up on 2:00 a.m., about the time the killer heads for home with his conquest of the night.

I see him now. He has his arm around a tall, skinny girl in a silver dress. He weaves as he walks. I hope and pray that he is not too drunk. I want him to know why he is going to die.

I step in front of them and tell the girl to hit the road. She hesitates, but when I raise the gun, she finds someplace else to be. Then I turn to the Cuban and say, “This ain’t your fight, and in a minute you won’t have a job.”

He hesitates also. So I explain it to him, “In one minute, your boss will be dead. Do you want a piece of what is about to go down?” I reckon he doesn’t because he shrugs and walks away.

Now it is just the murderer and me.

No . . . it is me, the murderer and my Colt.

I put a bullet into his shocked face. His blood and brains splatter the wall behind him. Then he died. So simple to kill someone. I did it with a gun; he did it with a car.

I thought I would feel better killing the son of a bitch. But you know what? It does not feel good to kill another human being. Though I am glad that I did it.

Now I am waiting for the cops. I hear the sirens nearing. But I am not worried; I will not be here when they arrive.

With the gun barrel in my mouth, I think of My Georgia and tell her that I am on my way to her.

When I see the first cop, I squeeze the trigger.

Searchin’ For You


When the night has come and the city is dark, that is the time that I leave my cabin. That is the time I go searchin’ for you. I look into the honky-tonks and I walk the streets knowing that one night I will find you.

You have long black hair that flows over your shoulders. Your eyes are gray, you have curves that I did not think a woman could ever have. I know everything about you except your name. Is it Diane? Is it Nadine? Or is it Aphrodite? You are my goddess of love.

When the night has gone and the light in the east tells me I must stop my quest, I go back to my cabin and think of you.

I saw you five months ago walking with a man. You went into Jimbo’s honky-tonk, and I followed. I sat at the bar and watched you. As I looked on, I fell in love. I fell in love with your smile and with your laugh. I fell in love with your beauty. From that moment on, I was yours. You just don’t know it yet. I should have followed you then, but I couldn’t move. I thought you’d be back soon, but haven’t seen you since. However, that is all right.

I dream of you while I sleep the day away. I know that if I am to find you it will only be in the dark of night where I first saw you. I’m searchin’ for you baby, and one day I will find you.


Nothing But Blue Skies

father and daughter

I just flew in from Missouri. I was up there promoting my book. It’s kind of hard to promote something that is only virtual. But more on that later. I had something profound happen to me while I was there and I would like to tell you about it.

I went to Mark Twain’s home state to start my “book tour” because my book REDEMPTION: The Further Adventures of Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer is kind of a sequel to his two books. Although in my book, Huck and Tom are grown men. The way I decided to play it was to have business cards printed up. On the front is my book cover in full color and on the back are links on where to buy it.

My plan was to go to bookstores, make nice with the owner or manager and be allowed to pass out my cards to their customers. If they didn’t warm up to my sparkling personality and they told me to hit the road, well, then I’d stand outside the store and hand my cards to people as they came out.

The first two bookstores I went to were more than happy to allow me my pitiful little promotion. The third store was a little different. I was told to hit the pavement or the cops would be called.

It was 1:30 in the afternoon and I was hungry (I hadn’t eaten lunch yet), but my Irish was up, so I stood outside the store ready to pass out my first card when I saw a man sitting in a car across the street. Figuring I’d start with him, I crossed over.

Leaning down to the window, I held out the card and said, “This is my book. If you are interested, you can order it online.” The man smiled at me and took the card. It was then that I noticed the little girl in the seat next to him. She couldn’t have been more than ten years old.

Then the damndest thing happened. The man started to laugh. Softly at first, but the laugh grew into a full belly laugh as he held my card in his hand and looked at it.

I was already pissed off because of what I went through with the asshole manager of the bookstore across the street, so I snatched the card out of his hand. I started to walk off, but being of Irish decent, I turned and said, “I put my heart and soul into that goddamn book and I don’t appreciate you laughing at it!”

The guy immediately stopped laughing and said, “No offense sir, but I don’t own a computer. My little girl and I are living out of this car and we haven’t eaten in a day. I think a book is way down on the list of things I need in my life.”

I froze where I was. It took a few ticks of the clock, but I felt ashamed. I had money to spend on a fool’s mission to fly to another state, pay for a motel room and eat out in restaurants just to sell a book that would never, in its best day, help or change the world.

I walked back to the car, smiled and held out my hand. “The name’s Andrew Joyce, and I’m sorry. It’s my Irish temper. It gets me in more trouble than not.” We shook hands and he told me his name was Chris. Then he introduced me to his daughter. Her name was Melanie. Chris called her Mel.

At that point, there was nothing else for me to do, but invite them to have lunch with me. They were hungry and I was hungry, though not as hungry as they were.

Chris hesitated for a moment; I could tell he had his pride, but he looked over to his daughter and said to me, “Mel and I would be proud to have lunch with a famous author like you.” I shook my head and told him I was far from that.

We settled in at a diner down the street. This is where the profound comes in. It’s a cliché, but it broke my heart to see how thin the little girl was. And Chris wasn’t much better off. It also broke my heart to see Mel look at the waitress as she passed our booth with her tray stacked with food. Mel’s eyes followed her until . . . until her father nudged her and gave her a look. A look that silently said, “Be cool.”

As I watched them eat the first food they had in a day, Chris told me his story.

Chris was a pipefitter. He had his own shop and was doing pretty well for himself and his family until about three years ago. Then his wife suddenly took sick and died. Mel was only seven at the time. Chris did the best he could. In one sense, he was lucky. He was his own boss, so he could come and go as he pleased.

On school days, he would pick Mel up after school and take her to his shop where she would do her homework in the office. When she was done, she was allowed to watch some television. He did not want her to be a latchkey kid.

Because of the economy, his business fell by the wayside. Finally, he had to admit defeat and close his shop. Eight months ago, the bank foreclosed on his house. They had been living out of his car ever since.

He told me he occasionally got day work by hanging out with the Mexicans at Home Depot, but because of his age, he was seldom selected to ride in the back of the pickup. Another factor might have been that he had a little girl by his side. Chris was not about to let Mel out of his sight. At least not until she was older.

That was his story.

We finished eating, and as we walked back to his car, I told him because I’m a writer, I could tell his story. Maybe that would get him job offers or at least a place to live.

“I appreciate it Andrew, but I don’t want it broadcast around the shape that I am in. If I can make it, I’ll make it on my own. Mel and I sure do thank you for the meal. And when I get back into the clover, I’ll buy your book.”

That just about made me cry. I knelt on one knee before Mel and said, “”You are the prettiest little girl that I have ever seen. And I know a prince that would just love you. And someday he will find you.”

We walked another block and came to an ATM. I took out the max, and handed the $400.00 to Chris. At first, he refused my inadequate gift. But I told him, it was not for him. It was for Mel. Before he could say anything else, I walked off.

As I sit here in my comfortable boat with air conditioning. With food. I am dry when it rains and I eat when I am hungry. I think of Chris and Mel. The only thing I want in this world now . . . is for Chris (and Mel) to be well-off enough to buy my book. Not for me . . . for them.

Note: Because of Chris’ and Mel’s wish for anonymity, I did not use their real names.

Next week, I fly to California to try to sell some books. Ya ‘all will receive my dispatches as I feel fit to send them.

Danny and the Three Monsters


Hello dog fans, it’s me Danny the Dog! I haven’t been writing much lately because I’ve been helping my human, whose name is Andrew, look after three Labrador retrievers. What a nightmare! There is Chloe, she is fourteen months old, and then there is Beau and Hank. They are both four months old and they are holy terrors. They live on a boat down at the end of the dock. Their human was going out of town and he asked my human to look after the dogs. And Andrew being the idiot that he is, said yes.

First of all, I want to say to my friend Suni that I hope you get well soon. Then I want to say to Jeff, the human that lives with the three monsters, don’t ever leave them in Andrew’s care again. I wouldn’t trust him to look after a taco, much less three dogs.

The trouble started right away. Jeff had two crates (humans call them crates, I call them cages) for Beau and Hank because as I’ve said they are holy terrors. Andrew went over to take them for their first walk after Jeff left, and of course, he has to take me along. More on that later. Anyway, Andrew gets them out of the crates and is getting them off the boat when clumsy Hank falls into the water.

You have to understand this, it was nighttime. It was dark, the water was dark and Hank is black. Andrew and I could see nothing of Hank; we could only hear his splashing around. The dock is about five feet above the water so Andrew couldn’t get him out by standing on the dock. Being the genius that he is (I’m just kidding), Andrew got on the swim platform, which (for you landlubbers) is attached to the back of the boat and is only a foot above the water.

Now this is where Andrew’s genius comes into play. He took off his glasses and placed them on the transom so they wouldn’t slip off when he was bending over to pull Hank out of the water. He called to Hank, and Hank swam over and Andrew got him onto the boat. Then Andrew went to get his glasses and they were not there or anywhere else on the boat. It looked as though Beau knocked them into the water because he had his paws up in that general vicinity while he was watching Andrew rescue his brother (they’re twins). All this in the first five minutes of Andrew looking after the monsters. And it only got better, and by better, I mean worse. I had a ball watching Andrew trying to cope for four days.

On to the next disaster, but first a side note. For some reason Beau is enthralled with me. The damn dog wouldn’t let me alone. He put his snoot in my face, ran around me, bounced around me, he was a royal pain in my rear end. Finally, I had to growl at him and give him a little nip on his snoot to get some peace.

Now back to Andrew’s genius. We got the dogs back on the boat without further mishaps. Andrew fed them and all was well. But then Andrew decided not to put Hank and Beau in their crates. He felt sorry for them being cooped up like that. Big mistake!

The next morning when we went to get them there was poop everywhere. The whole floor was cover in it. The babies got into the dog food bag, ripped it open and ate all the food. Then they pooped everywhere and walked in it. They got it on the couch, on the sliding glass doors, on everything. Needless to say, Andrew, after spending two hours cleaning it all up, changed his mind about the crates.

Last night we were sitting around, Andrew was reading and I was on the computer starting this story when Chloe came on the boat. She’s always coming on here and stealing my water! But she should have been locked in her own boat. Andrew got up, looked out, saw Jeff, and said, “Thank God! Thank God! I barked the same thing. Our days of taking care of the monsters were over. Thank God!

P.S. This morning Jeff came over with Andrew’s glasses. Beau had taken them and hid them in his stash place.