Rabbit Moon_Whatever Happened to Joey "Yank" Yankovich_A Bad Day for Business_Where is hom
Catalog Guide:
Rabbit Moon
He only intended to bring down the moon. That was what the rabbit in the tall hat and red cape told the boy. A simple trick, he said, though it had to be done exactly right. “Wait and see,” he said, winking one of his big black eyes in the boy’s direction. He sat down on a bale of hay and began gently plucking at the strings of his violin, putting down his long ears over it and twisting the little pegs at the top. “What will you do with it?” the boy asked. “With what?” “The moon.” “I’ll put it in my pocket for a while, I expect, or perhaps I’ll lend it to the jugglers. And tomorrow night, I...
Whatever Happened to Joey "Yank" Yankovich
It’s 2005 and the Houston Astros, with their rising star homerun hitter Carlos Beltran will finally be playing in their first World Series; back in 1969, they were called the Colt .45’s and they sat at home and watched on TV while their 1962 counterparts in the expansion of National League Baseball – “The Amazin’ New York Mets” – became World Series Champions…I knew the Mets were going to do what they did back then, and I predicted it. I woul have nothing really better to do with my life, because I was no longer a real baseball player...I had become a “Mets’ Man” in June of 1968 when the team ...
A Bad Day for Business
Little Benny Rambler, all out of breath, crashed through the tree line of the old Anderson lot. They still called it that, even though old Anderson was ten years dead. Benny doubled over, braced himself against his knees, and tried to catch his breath. He caught sight owww.onedoor.ccf his family’s farmhouse, squat and wide and so small from this distance. And he heard voices, not too far. There were three adults crossing the field – his family’s field – and they all had guns. And one had a cowboy hat, so that was probably Sheriff Laner.“Hey!” Benny called out. He waved both his arms, signaling the airplane...
Where is home (if not with me?)
We have plenty of time. I turned away from him as he carried a basket load of laundry up the stairs. His heavy feet stomping each stair as though he was climbing the dark side of a mountain into battle. I sighed and fought the thoughts that hoped he missed a step. Those words made my blood boil! In his world time waits for him, and in reality, time screws us over again and again and like idiots, we repeat the same patterns. Him, rolling his eyes and insisting that time is his mistress, and me in the corner agreeing through gritted teeth and silent smiles. He reached the top of the stairs safel...