"…his stories are always sharp and compact and interesting." ——Angel Martinez "(One of) the hottest authors in the independent horror scene…" —-Hellbound Books
This Must Be What Legs Diamond Said To Dutch Schultz
by Mike Mayak
“Yeah. I’m downtown right now. Yeah, I got a burner phone, you think I’m stupid? Yeah, I got the time. And the place. Millar’s Drugstore over on Fifth and Main. Yeah. Two-Fifteen tomorrow afternoon. It’s when the guy takes the deposit to the bank. Yeah, yeah. Same guy, the older guy. Yeah, he walks there. He’ll be in the alley for about a minute. Yeah, we grab it when he’s in there. Yeah, I got my ski mask, like you said. No, no I won’t be wearing anything with any logo on it. And I’m not stupid enough to wear my work shirt with MYRON HERKINS on the front. That’d be like some baseball player wearing his jersey to steal a deposit from someone.
What? No, I’m not in a motel room. And I didn’t find a phone booth. I’m on the first floor of the Library. The big one downtown. You know, with the big couch by the window, that’s where I am now. Whaddya mean I should keep my voice down? This damn cheap phone you can’t hear me unless I really speak up. Hang on a minute, will ya? Security guy wants to ask me something…”
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Actually written not too far from where I took the prompt pic in the Library a few months ago.—-mike
We’d walked on the artificial wooden boards (and I knew what “wood” was because Team G, which I’m on, had done a report on it for school) and had seen the Solooen where they drank and shot people and the barns where they kept the horses. Then Dad/Mom said he/she had a “surprise” for me.
We walked between two of the old buildings and turned toward the edge of the little street, opposite where we’d paid our admission and came in. The buildings were perfect for the period (1870’s, I’d been studying it!) and Dad/Mom said “So are you ready to do your school report on the Murcan Frontier West?”
“Yes, Sir/Ma’am,” I said.
“Well, you’ll need something to show the class and to prove you were here,” He/She said.
We walked into a little wooden building that had fake faded lettering on its fake glass window.
Team J had done a report on “glass,” but their visual display had dropped and broken. I’d tried not to laugh.
Inside was a shop, a real shop. Not like the places you go on screen to order something. There were actual items on display on shelves and counters and (what I assumed to be) a real person watching both of us.
“You have one of your birthdays coming up,” Dad/Mom said. “How about getting one of these?”
He pointed to a row of clear glass balls, some of them small, a couple as big as my head. All of them with small figures inside. They each had a little base attached so they wouldn’t roll away.
“These are called snow globes,” Dad/Mom said. “They used to make a lot more of them. Watch this.”
He picked one of the medium sized ones up and shook it and held it out to me. The ball was full of liquid and little white flakes I hadn’t noticed. They swirled around like a snowstorm.
“I’ve seen snow!” I said. “When we took the hoverflyer up North, remember?”
“Take a good look inside,” Dad/Mom said.
I stared. The little model inside was a miniature replica of the little street we’d been walking along and exploring. What had been called a “Ghost Town.”
“You want it?” Dad/Mom asked with a warm smile. I nodded, smiling.
“Did you notice? It’s got the name of the place that used to be here on it?” Dad/Mom asked.
I hadn’t noticed. I carefully took the globe and tilted it until the flakes fell away from the words on the base of the little town: “Losvegis.”
“Happy Birthday!” Dad/Mom said.
I held the globe tight as we took off in the hoverflyer.
—end—
AUTHOR’S NOTE: The draws for the November 2024 Flash Fiction Draw Challenge were A Science Fiction Story, involving a Snow Globe set in a Ghost Town. This story uses the characters and setting of “Continental Divide,” a story I posted back in July. —-jeff
First, here’s the prompts for the November 2024 Flash Fiction Draw Challenge. Then my usual long-winded explanation:
A Science Fiction Story
Involving A Snow Globe
Set in A Western Ghost Town
Now, on to the details.
Hi! I’m Mike Mayak, I also write as Jeff Baker and I’m the current moderator for the monthly Flash Fiction Draw Challenge, which was started by ‘Nathan Burgoine a few years ago and carried on by Cait Gordon and Jeffrey Ricker. It’s a monthly writing challenge mainly for stress-free fun that anyone can play.
Here’s how it works: the first Monday of every month I draw three cards; a heart, a diamond and a club. These correspond to a list naming a genre, a setting and an object that must appear in the story. Participants write up a flash fiction story, 1,000 words or less, post it to their website and link it here in the comments. I’ll post the results (including, hopefully, one of my own!)
I’m a day late with this because I’ve been stressed-out.
As I’m no good making videos I did the drawing offstage. So, the results were the Ace of Hearts (a Science Fiction Story), the Eight of Diamonds (A Western Ghost Town) and the Four of Clubs (A Snow Globe.) So we will write a Science Fiction Story, set in a Western Ghost Town, involving A Snow Globe.
We’ll have the results here in this same space around Monday November 11th, 2024.
So, get to writing and I’ll post the results next week! And I’m putting the 2024 Flash Draw sheet at the end of this message, again! (* indicates those have been used.)
Thanks for playing, and I’ll see you in about week!
And have fun!
——mike
Flash Draw Sheet for 2024 (“*” indicates prompt has been used.)
Every week we post six lines from a work of ours, a work-in-progress or published or a recommendation of someone else’s work with at least one LGBT character. Posted at Rainbow Snippets here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/963484217054974
For my occasional snippet, here is part of a story I wrote from one of the last of the prompts Paula posted on her website.https://ptwyant.com/
“It’s coming,” Raymundo said, rushing into our living room from the kitchen. Eyes big, black hair dripping with sweat, somehow looking pale. An Aztec whose gods had actually shown up to watch the sacrifice. “Doug, it’s coming.”
“I know,” I say from my place, glued to the sofa watching the cable news.
“No, it’s coming now!” Raymundo says.
Here’s a little more:
“Big. Swelling. Gray-blue beach-ball not blending with the afternoon sky but big. White with shadows. Falling. Here, right here.”
The news anchors are displaying a graphic depicting the Moon spiraling in it’s orbit, heading toward Earth. Now heading actually toward US.
We’d opted not to try and flee; where would we go?
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This story was written from the last prompt posted by Paula Wyant. Two words: “It’s Coming.” I sometimes used her suggestions on her “Paula’s Prompts” feature on her site and the picture of the rising Moon went into it too. I always enjoyed Paula’s words (although we never met) and how she made the “Rainbow Snippets” https://www.facebook.com/groups/963484217054974Facebook group a welcoming little community. This story’s for her.
—–jeff
“It’s coming,” Raymundo said, rushing into our living room from the kitchen. Eyes big, black hair dripping with sweat, somehow looking pale. An Aztec whose gods had actually shown up to watch the sacrifice. “Doug, it’s coming.”
“I know,” I say from my place, glued to the sofa watching the cable news.
“No, it’s coming now!” Raymundo says. “Big. Swelling. Gray-blue beach-ball not blending with the afternoon sky but big. White with shadows. Falling. Here, right here.”
The news anchors are displaying a graphic depicting the Moon spiraling in it’s orbit, heading toward Earth. Now heading actually toward US.
We’d opted not to try and flee; where would we go? Months ago, they had published calculations of where the Moon would hit and people had made plans to be elsewhere. But everywhere would be shattered. The calculations were off and we were the target. Our house. Our life. No time for the Battle at Armageddon.
I stand up and grab Raymundo’s arm.
“Only time for this.” I say.
I guide him into the backyard. Trees, grass. Wide-open sky. A swelling Moon at the center of the sky, a cap on the zenith.
Raymundo and I hold hands and don’t let go. Nothing will pull us apart.
The air calm, birds winging to and fro in panic. Their nest, the Great Nest being invaded by the biggest egg ever.
“Songs in our head!” Raymundo says. He speaks of “Light Of the Silvery Moon,” “Shine On Harvest Moon,” even “No Moon At All,” and then Beethoven.
We reach up; close enough to touch yet? We see Moon shadows on lunar surface, dots from mountains moving as the Moon shifts unnaturally.
“Telling time by the Moon,” Raymundo said. “Our time is up.”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Only time for an epitaph,” Raymundo says. “Not in a bed or battlefield but here on this plot of green that will be our plot for an instant, and then gone. So,” he stares at me. “What words? What words do we say to mark this occasion, this last occasion?”
I stare up. The Moon fills my eyes.
“Last words!” Raymundo says. “Meaningful! Profound! Maybe the last words spoken anywhere.”
I stare at Raymundo. I grin. I look up at the Moon.
“Well,” I say. “Here’s another nice mess you’ve got us in.”
I look at Raymundo, his face stunned. Then he laughs, pulls me towards him and kisses me. I glance up; the dark side of the Moon swelling, creeping, covering craters, mountains we were close enough to see.
We kiss again as the wind rises up and the ground rumbles to welcome the Moon. We hold each other as the darkening Moon fills the sky.
NOTE: A version of this review first appeared on Goodreads. —-jeff
“Upon The Midnight Queer” ‘Nathan Burgoine’s New Collection
Reviewed by Jeff Baker
‘Nathan Burgoine’s second short fiction collection “Upon the Midnight Clear,” features a group of short Christmas tales featuring LGBT characters in stories ranging from retellings of classic Christmas stories (“Dolph,” “Frost”) to fully original stories. Many of them first appeared on his blog where his yearly Christmas stories became a holiday tradition. The new collection includes those, some stories published elsewhere and “Folly,” a story first published in “Upon the Midnight Queer.”
Tales range from contemporary romance to a look at one of the characters from “A Christmas Carol” after that story ended to a story set in the Canada of 1981, a very bad year for the LGBT Community there. Characters often have the sort of perceptual gifts that appear frequently in Burgoine’s stories. Romance, while sometimes only hinted at, is present throughout the book, as is social commentary if only from the fact that LGBT people are generally underrepresented in popular fiction. In that, Burgoine is carrying on the tradition of Charles Dickens whose works were peopled with appealing characters and filled with exposure of society’s ills.
Running through it all is Burgoine’s masterful command of the written word, slipping convincingly into the prose styles of earlier times when required. Whatever the era, the words are perfect.
Words like:
I learned fear and bravery are companions and how the fellowship of someone else tipped the scales to bravery’s side every time.
Or:
Holding forever in her hand, she asked for help.
And:
If you live in a garret, you get two views.
Following on the heels of Burgoine’s first collection “Of Echoes Born,” and several holiday romances (not always around Christmas!) “Upon The Midnight Queer” is a welcome addition to any bookshelf.
The skeleton astride the motorcycle in the parking lot cackled in a ghostly voice; “Beware! I am the Hell-Spawned Spirit of Vengeance!”
“Sounds good to me,” said a voice from the van parked in the space next to the bike.
The skeleton looked up, startled. A read-headed kid apparently in his 20s leaned out the van’s driver’s side window grinning.
“How come you can see me?” the skeleton asked.
“How do you think?” the kid said. “Shawn McKenzie, at your service. I bought it back in ‘85. Hey, how long you been a skeleton?”
“I’m usually not,” said the skeleton. “I just appear like this for Halloween. Usually I stay at the house I used to live in. The kid renting it never sees me, but when when he gets stoned sometimes after work he hears me. That’s the way it is, some people can notice us sometimes. But he didn’t notice me riding along on his bike.”
“Mommy! Mommy!” The little girl walking out of the bank with her mother pointed. “A Halloween skeleton and it’s moving!”
“That’s nice dear,” her mother said, guiding the girl to their car.
The skeleton waved. “Happy Halloween!” he said. He and McKenzie laughed as they watched the pair drive off.
“So,” said the skeleton, standing up and stretching. “You haunt their warehouse and ride along in the van or what?”
“Naaah!” McKenzie said, opening the driver’s side door and stepping out. “I drive this thing all day!”
McKenzie walked around and opened the van’s back doors. He was wearing boots, jeans and a blue shirt with a company logo on the sleeve and SHAWN on a label sewn on the front pocket.
He pulled out a hand cart and started stacking boxes on it. “This is the good thing about being able to make anybody see me,” he said. “I can do this job and they pay me under the table.” He grinned again. “Of course, they don’t know exactly why I need to be paid under the table!”
“So why work?” the skeleton asked. “Aren’t we permanently retired?”
“I don’t eat, but this way I get money for beer,” McKenzie said. “Besides, I got bored.” He locked the van and started pushing the cart to the delivery door. He turned and waved.
“Happy Halloween!”
“Yeah, you too!” the skeleton said, starting to look like his human self and not a skeleton.
The brown-haired kid in the ripped tank top and tattoos walked out of the building and hopped on his motorcycle.
“Hey! Happy Halloween!” the former skeleton said, clinging to the back of the seat he was on. He now looked about the same age as McKenzie and the kid on the bike who gunned the engine oblivious to the ghostly passenger or the voice.
“Oh well,” the skeleton said, looking like a skeleton again even if most people couldn’t see him.
As the bike roared out of the parking lot, the skeleton laughed. “Beware, mortals! I, the Ghost, uh, Hanger-Oner am here to deliver vengeance!”
Wrote the regular flash fictions, (One of them the start of another serial!!) plotted out something and otherwise kind of piddled on the writing but I DID send some things off to magazines and I got a request from an anthology I have a story in for an author bio. (I’d forgotten the book was coming out!)
The big writing news is I finally finished the first draft of the longer story I’ve been working on since around February. I told myself “no longer projects until you finish this.” I’ve read through it and it needs some tweaking but it looks good!
So now I can get to a few other longer stories I have in the synopsis stage.
And I have the two Queer Sci Fi columns for November and December to do.
So, since the next couple of days will be a little busy, that’s about it for now!
Started reading Dave Musson’s “Once More Round the Sun.” Read the stories “Start As You Mean To Go On,” “The Strange Phenomenon of Epping Manor,” “Time Capsule” and “You’re Melting.”
Like his inspiration, Stephen King, (Musson runs “Dave Reads King,” a You Tube Channel devoted to King’s works) Musson captures the reader with the ordinary details told in a captivating way; the sounds of breakfast being made, the smells of bacon, before hitting the reader with a kicker line when the character hearing and smelling these things remembers “He lived alone.”
The book contains many sneaky references to King’s work; the number nineteen, men wearing yellow coats, a town named “Kingsworth,” but Musson is his own writer with his own voice. “Once More Round the Sun” has the nifty premise of a story for every month of the year. (I’d never read a horror story for April Fool’s Day before!) Like other writers before him, Musson sets his stories in prosaically normal-seeming locations the reader will feel they know.
One note here; the stories are excellent but in some of them, Musson goes for the gross-out.
Read (online) “Full Report Of the Second Meeting Of the Mudfog Association For the Advancement Of Everything Section B-Display Of Models And Mechanical Science.” This is an 1837 science fiction story, by Charles Dickens no less, that presages “Westworld” by about 130 years! Also, there’s a scathing and brilliant bit about eyeglasses that let the viewer see things far away but not nearby.
“…a large number of most excellent persons and great statesmen could see, with the naked eye, most marvelous horrors of West India plantations, while they could discern nothing whatever in the interior of Manchester cotton mills.”
Early science-fiction and pointed commentary by Dickens.
Bummed through Jim Beard’s “Breaking Bold and Brave,” his non-fiction book about “The Brave And the Bold” comic book. There’s some history, a few personal recollections and a guide to/review of every one of the 200 issues (and a few specials!) An informative nostalgia trip, very well-done!
Got a couple of books to read stories by Hildegarde Hawthorne. (Daughter of Julian, Granddaughter of Nathaniel.) Read “Unawares,” a sweetly sentimental Christmas ghost story in “Spirits of Christmas,” edited by David G. Hartwell and Kathryn Cramer. A fine writer. Sentiment usually doesn’t fly today but some writers (like Runyon) were damn good at it!)
The other Hawthorne story I read was “A Legend Of Sonora.” I’d probably read it before. Reminicent of Ambrose Bierce’s work. Read this one in “100 Fiendish Little Frightmares” one of the anthologies Barnes & Noble published thirty-some years ago.
And I had seen the title mentioned a few times so I read Bierce’s “An Inhabitant Of Carcosa.” May have read it before. An influential horror story, if only for all the authors who have re-used the name.
Another story I couldn’t resist re-reading was Louisa Baldwin’s spooky tale “How He Left the Hotel.” Both of the above in “The Mammoth Book of Ghost Stories”
Read John Kendrick Bang’s “The Mystery Of My Grandmother’s Hair Sofa.” A spoof of long-winded prose and 19th-century ghost stories from an absolute master. In the anthology “Spirits Of Christmas.”
And from the same anthology I read “Breakdown,” a spooky and sweet little ghost story (with a happy ending!) by Marjorie Bowen. I saw a talk given on her at the World Fantasy Convention last year in Kansas City.
Read Robert Duncan Milne’s story “A Base-Ball Mystery” from 1887. The story starts off being told in a room at San Francisco’s Palace Hotel (!!!) but then moves to Indianapolis. Fun 19th-Century Sci-Fi.
Milne’s stories are full of references to landmarks people in the San Francisco of the 1880s would have known; the Bay, Market Street, Woodward’s Gardens and others. In his fun (but implausible!) story “Into The Sun,” those landmarks do not fare well. His description of a fire engulfing the City with toppled buildings is startling, considering it was published 1882.
I ordered a copy of the 1980 Sam Moskowitz edited Milne collection “Into The Sun And Other Stories.” Well worth it and I’ll be reading more as I have a thing for 19th-Century Sci-Fi.
(There’s a companion volume; “Science Fiction In Old San Francisco; Volume One, History Of the Movement From 1854 to 1890,” a non-fiction work by Moskowitz which I don’t have. The collection is actually Volume two.)
Recently there was a collection of more Milne stories available on Kindle and a very pricey hardback collection. These and the Moskowitz books are the first collected Milne ever. (Bring on the mass-market paperback!)
Read “Kindergarten” by James Gunn, a short-short collected in the Asimov anthology “Comets” 40-some years ago.
Pulled out my copy of “Night Shadows: Queer Horror” edited by Greg Herren and realized I hadn’t read every story, including a couple by writers I know;
“Filth” by ‘Nathan Burgoine. I love ‘Nathan’s work and a full-fledged horror story from him is rare. This one was excellent.
“Blackout” by Jeffrey Ricker. A fine and frightening haunted-house story with sweet touches as the loving couple’s wonderful house in the country becomes a nightmare.
Michael Rowe’s “All the Pretty Boys” gives us a young hustler who becomes prey.
And also from “Night Shadows” I read “A Letter To My Brother Relating Recent Events With Unintended Consequences,” by Carol Rosenfeld. A funny vampire tale.
Read “The Flimflam Affair,” one of the fine mystery novels by Bill Pronzini about Carpenter and Quincannon Professional Detective Services. Set in and around San Francisco around the turn of the last century it’s a series that almost never would have happened except an editor asked for a short-story sequel to a somewhat downer Western novel Pronzini had written. In this latest series of novels the focus is also on John and Sabina’s relationship as well.
Read a few of Jack Cole’s Plastic Man comic book stories from “The Plastic Man Archives, Volume Two.” Cole was a genius.
Re-read my own story “The Ghannidor-Ra” in the paperback copy of “Schlock! Webzine,” April 2024. Looks good and has a Weird-Talesy illustration of a bottle and a skull in the middle of one page of text!
Read an extra Kaje Harper story on he blog she posted: “Fake Boyfriend’s Choice.” Perfect! Sweet and romantic.
Read a couple of entries in the Bay Area Queer Writer’s Association Antholgy called “Together.” “The poem “Together,” by K. S. Trenten and the story “Bon Appetit” by Pat Henshaw.
Tracked down Fritz Leiber’s “When they Openly Walk,” a cat story I didn’t think I’d read (but I had!) in the August 1969 Galaxy Magazine. Also read Leiber’s “The Cat Hotel,” from the October 1983 Magazine Of Fantasy And Science Fiction. There’s a hint of the “L” in “LGBT” in the story!
Also read Leiber’s “Schizo Jimmy. Excellent, and somewhat topical!
Read Manly Wade Wellman’s early story “At The Bend Of The Trail.” Only story of his I’ve read set in Africa where he was born!
Read H. Warner Munn’s “Out Of the Night.” Never read Munn before. (Oh, the last three stories were in the fun Barnes and Noble “100…” series of anthologies from thirty-some years ago!)
Got on a Julian Hawthorne jag (love his stuff!) and started reading “Absolute Evil” and realized I’d read it before (under the title “Island Of Ghosts.”) I WILL re-read it because it’s just good! Ordered a book with two stories about the same character from the story; Martha Klemm.”
Read Hawthorne’s “Rumpty Dudget’s Tower” an okay fairy tale he wrote for his kids. Has a couple of clever touches. And I started reading the stories in Hawthorne’s “Six Cent Sam’s” which I really hadn’t looked at. Club stories from the 1890s. Started with “Mr. Dunton’s Invention.”
AND I read Bram Stoker’s recently re-discovered story “Gibbet Hill.” Very much a weird tale that would have fit in E. C. Comics. Read it off a photo of the newspaper story from December 1890!
Jorge Alabaster turned the motorcycle off the highway as he drove into the city. He rode down the street into what had been the downtown area He passed what had been a fast food place with it’s fake 50s dined décor. The windows were dark in the mid-afternoon sun and the raccoon perched on Jorge’s shoulders didn’t so much as glance at the building.
Jorge smiled. So far, Cooter’s instincts had been pretty good. He’d sniffed out food in the last big city they’d been through and even in the little towns along the highway that hadn’t been evacuated after everything went blooey a couple of years ago.
He glanced around. He thought he’d seen a neon sign in the distance somewhere. Some of the cities were partially opened up. That’s how he was able to keep the bike gassed up.
Jorge turned onto what had been the main street through town and headed East, past a bunch of closed businesses, some with boarded-up windows. Some showed signs of being open, one even had a hand printed sign in the window reading “Yes, We’re Open Sometimes.”
Jorge smiled at that. Some things were getting back to normal. After a few minutes he found himself in an area of old brick buildings that more than likely had been warehouses converted into shops. There were still some street signs: Mead and Mosley and the like. Jorge turned down a street still paved with bricks. The city had probably been keeping the Old Town ambiance up for tourists. What there would have been here to tour he didn’t know.
Cooter shifted on his shoulders. There was a neon sign lit in a lower window by a stone archway with a railing and a flight of stairs going down to a level under the street.
“May as well see,” Jorge said parking deliberately beneath an old NO PARKING sign on the wall. He cautiously walked down the stairs, Cooter eagerly sniffing the air. Cooter seemed interested which was a good sign. A few weeks earlier he had ignored Cooter’s fidgeting and walked into a knife fight.
The room was small with the feel of a small-town bar and it probably had been a bar at one time. It was lit by a few lights to the side as well as a few small windows that were at street level. There were a couple of people sitting in a booth. Music was playing low from an old boombox set on the end of the bar. Jorge could smell good smells from the kitchen. The bartender smiled as Jorge walked up.
“What’ll you have?” the man said.
“What’ve you got?” Jorge asked.
“We grilled out some burgers earlier, we even have some buns today. No cheese, I’m afraid.”
“Sounds like you’re getting deliveries in at least,” Jorge said. “Any fresh produce?”
“Sometimes,” said the man. “Tell you what; if your friend…” he pointed at Cooter “wouldn’t be too picky I think I have a few scraps from the trash. Even remains of a tomato.”
Cooter looked up wide-eyed as if he understood the word “tomato.”
“Sure,” Jorge said. “And I’ll have a burger.”
“Coming up,” the man said.
“Oh, what’s this gonna cost?” Jorge asked.
“Money’s no good here,” said the man. “But if you like you can do a little work around here. Maybe help hauling the trash barrel a few blocks from here to the refuse dump. No trash service anymore.”
“Okay,” Jorge said. “Oh, I’m Jorge Alabaster, at least I am now, and this is Cooter.”
“Bob Mills,” the man said with a nod. Nobody shook hands anymore.
In a few minutes the bartender had heated up the burger and set it on a plate on the bar in front of Jorge. Then he went back into the kitchen and returned with a piece of tomato, some crumpled green lettuce and a chunk of burger. He set this on a plate in front of Cooter who happily dug in after holding the tomato up in his front paws to inspect it.
Jorge found the burger surprisingly good. Cooter seemed to agree.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” Jorge said finishing the meal.
“We like it,”Mills said. “And there’s actually more of the city open than it looks. We just don’t advertise. We think of it as the Secret City.”
“Sounds like an old movie serial,” Jorge said.
“Yeah,” Mills said. “You’re not planning on staying are you?”
“No, Jorge said. “Cooter and I are headed out West. Wanna see if some friends of ours are still alive.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Well, I didn’t intend to start another serial but this sure has the feel of one! We’ll see what adventures await Jorge and Cooter in the Secret City at a later date. Again, thanks to Victor for the picture.
Posting this and the prompt pic for next week a day early because I’m going to be busy and a little out of it on Friday. ——-mike, AKA jeff
authorjeffbaker 