About the Creator
mark william smith
I have been writing now as a hobby for 20 years.
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AT THE CROSSROADS
The hellish nightmare called the Civil War ended a couple years ago, and I haven’t yet been able to get my post war life moving in any kind of direction. Seems I am having a harder time adjusting than many of the soldiers I knew during the war.
By mark william smith3 years ago in Fiction
Real men drink, right?
He has a problem. He’s felt it for years now, but he refuses to face it. He doesn’t want to admit it, to himself or to the people around him. All his heroes were the same. He likes to recall the scene where James Bond sits in a dusty pub in Latin America, a glass of whiskey in hand, his gaze fixed on a scorpion crawling across the bar. When he first fell for literature, it was Post Office and Women, which he read over and over again. Without those cans of beer and bottles of cheap whiskey, Bukowski’s work wouldn’t have been so raw, so honest. Even Vaclav Havel spent most of his nights in Prague bars; without that, he wouldn’t have been who he was. Those were the real men.
By George Roast6 days ago in Fiction
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