Craig-742 On The Most Peculiar Life And Death Of Young Miss Amelia Moore

Craig Hoffman
20 min readApr 23, 2023

Craig note- I have been kicking around a new story. My pals liked the opening, so I thought it made for a nice excuse to push out a blog. It’s pretty PG, but I suppose people triggered by just about anything might want a little, little, little heads up.


Cover Photo- Unsplash

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Chapter One- Miss Amelia Moore Didn’t Quite Make It To Christmas This Year

“But do not overlook this one fact that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. Let’s rise and rejoice in the presence of our beloved creator!”

“Amen, Pastor Brooks. Preach!”

“Easy for him to say. It’s not him who is putting his precious daughter in the cold, hard ground today. Perhaps, that pompous pillar of pretentious piety should get a plot ready for himself. Use some of this G-D megachurches’ money on something other than his big McMansion up on Blueberry Hill. No doubt that would be a thrill.”

“Hey, ‘I understand a fury in your words / But not the words,’ Robert. Remember, he’s a man of God after all. And anger is not the answer.”

“To be sure on this day, it most certainly is. But ‘Come not within the measure of my wrath!’”

“Please, this is a house of worship. God is always listening. ‘I have heard your prayer; I have seen your tears,’” said Pastor Brooks as he reached out with his well-manicured hand to console the inconsolable blob of a father raging before his deep, green-colored eyes. The pastor’s fancy ruby ring nearly gashing Robert’s flushed right cheek.

“Then, he is f-ing deaf. Letting some monster put my baby in that overpriced box sitting on that altar. A shrine to Christian hypocrisy. Because this must be a happy day for all. Right?”

“Indeed, it is not. Everyone is upset by this tragic event.”

“‘Upset’? Oh, me, oh, my, how comforting! Thank you, Dr. Phil. I’m so looking forward to your next book. Christ almighty!”

“My friend, ‘Who is man that is not angry? ‘“

“Save your pithy prose. ‘Man’?! Seriously, what kind of man could do that to a 18-year-old angel like my Am-”

Yes, yes, Amelia was something special. Everyone knows that. I loved her as much as anyone.”

“Yeah, I know. I appreciate that. She loved you like an uncle.”

“Come on, the car is waiting for you and your wife outside. We should get to the cemetery before the big storm hits later today. It’ll be a muddy mess out there on Preston Road if we don’t hurry up. You know how it floods every time it even sprinkles this time of year.”

“Cheap town planning bastards!”

“Yeah. But we should go.”

“Fine. Let’s just get this day over with. Jesus Christ is that too much to ask? Where is Emily anyway?”

“No idea. I think I saw her go outside earlier during the last hymn.”

“Typical. Stuffing her chubby face with those raspberry jelly doughnuts from the 302 gas station in my hour of need. She honestly thinks I don’t know that she hides those in her knockoff Prada bag. Mama didn’t raise no fool. Porky Pig’s got nothing on my curvy wife. Quickly someone hide the crawlers. Ha!”

“Um, Robert, she’s right behind you. Look, I gotta go. Good luck. And I am truly sorry for your loss.”

“Wha —”

Robert turned three shades of red and one of deep purple as he spun around on his alligator-skin dress shoes. The clicking sound of his designer loafers on the churches’ white marble floor was matched by the clackity-clack of his beloved wife’s latest online shoe purchase.

“‘Chubby face’? I’ll have you know I was outside writing the check for this event.”

“I thank you for that.”

“Save your appreciation. Your daughter is costing us a fortune both alive and in death lying in that way, way, way too flashy coffin that you just had to have for her.

“She loved those anime characters. I was lucky to get it for her.”

“‘Lucky’? It’ll be lucky if that check doesn’t bounce like a Pizza Hut mini basketball tomorrow.”

“Look, I told you, my family and friends will give some cash to help us out.”

“Help y-o-u out. You mean. They’d better. Or-”

“Well, I hope they will anyway. If not, I can just dip into my retirement account. I’ve still got a bit left in there, I think.”

“You better believe that’s what you’ll do. I promise you that dead stepdaughter of mine smirking at me from that deluxe coffin isn’t going to put me in the poorhouse this year. Or cancel my vacation to Hawaii. Why just look how this winter in Ohio has gotten my skin all pasty!? Why do we even live in Ohio, I have no idea?! Ada of all places.”

“You know I wanted Amelia to finish high school with her friends. You agreed. Remember? She only had one more year to go.”

“Of course, I remember.”

“You said it was fine before we got married last year.”

“That was last year.”

“Yes, it was.”

And now, it’s this year.”


“Look, I’ve got fresh, crispy divorce papers right here in my bag. And a gray ballpen full of black ink! You just say the word. And you’ll be living in a tiny cardboard box without my money to keep you up. And, ‘ T-th-th-that’s all folks!’ for the gimpy, little love of my life.”

“Hey, be nice. I can’t-”

“Come on, Hop-a-long. I’ve seen wild bunnies hopped up on cocaine jump around less than you do these days. You’re 47 not 107. A damn cripple you are!”

“That’s not funny. You know my leg bothers me, especially in the winter.”

“Oh but it is. You see, my wanna-be Tiny Tim, I’ve got corny, condescending jokes, too. B-b-b-uddy! So, do we have a problem?”

“No, dear. We don’t.”

“That’s just what I want to hear. Merry Christmas! Now hop on over here and give your mama a big ol’ wet kiss. `Tis the season!”

“Of course, dear. Happy Holidays!”

“But no tongue. You know how I hate that.”

“Yes, dear. I know. How could I forget?”


“Mr. Carlson, did you embalm this one?”

“Nah, Ronnie, you know nobody bothers to check that stuff anymore. Not even the state with their budget cuts. Plus, we made a mint off the father for that fancy imported coffin.”

“Yeah, that came dear. Quite the markup you added though. Fleeced that guy like a spring lamb after Easter Sunday. For shame, it being Christmas and all.”

“Son, in this terrible economy, every dollar counts, especially in the business of death. Life isn’t free for the living. Sheep like him keep our lights on. Plus, she’s dead. Pretty, young thing like that won’t mind a bit. To be sure, she’ll be missing all the holiday festivities this year.”

“No doubt about that. Still, won’t she rot right away?”

“Boy, that coffin is state of the art Japanese technology. Ain’t nothing getting in there for at least 1,000 years.”

“Really? That long.”

“Yes, sir. King Tut would be jealous of that shiny sarcophagus. Trust me. Once that sucker is locked in the crypt, it’ll be air tight. Anyway, shh, someone is coming. Make yourself scarce.”

“Fine. But I still don’t like it much. Seems almost sacrilegious or something.”

“Maybe it is. But I pay you; God doesn’t. Like it or lump it. That’s your choice. Go on now, you hear?”

Ronnie did as he was told and exited out the large front doors of the megalith-sized church, grabbing the gold-plated doorknob and slamming it shut. An eerie silence fell upon the empty sanctuary as the ivory and rose-colored candles around the casket flickered and their wax fell in sticky, odd-shaped blobs on the once pristine altar shag carpet.

“You’re okay in there, right?”

“Well, as well as could be expected, Mr. Carlson.”

“You’re sure you still want to do this? It seems insane.”

“It’s fine. We just have to stick to the plan. You turned the oxygen tank on. Right?”

“I did indeed. Full in fact.”

“How long?”

“Two hours. Maybe a bit more than that if you stay calm in there. It should be enough to get you through the ceremony at the cemetery at least.”

“I hope so. But that old windbag, Pastor Brooks can go on and on. You know?”

“Yeah, but more rain is comin’ and it’s getting colder already. That should keep him brief. Nobody wants to ruin their Sunday best.”

“God forbid that should happen.”

“What can I say? People love their fancy duds from Sears.”

“Right. And after, you’ll let me out, and I can get on with things.”

Sure, sure.”

“And you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

“I’ll take your secret and ours to the grave. I swear, Amelia. Not a word.”

“I have no doubt about that, Mr. Carlson. You’d be super popular in pinstripes over at the Allen Correctional Facility. Even at your age…”

“Hey! You promised. I’ll help you, and we’ll forget all about that unfortunate incident between us last fall.”

“‘Unfortunate.’ That’s rich! And that was ‘incidents’ plural as I recall.”

“Look, alcohol does things to a man. Okay? Please, I’m begging-”

“Jesus, relax, Jack. My lips are sealed tighter than my legs where that and you are now concerned. Rest your weary head and your limp-”

“Hey! Anyway, I can’t thank you enough for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“But I still don’t quite understand what all this is about.”

“Your understanding is not required, only your silence. Get it?”

“Got it. Anyway, I should close this up and get you, er, the coffin to the hearse. It won’t look good if we are too late getting to the plot. Everyone will be waiting.”


“And you’ll need all the air you can get if something goes wrong. Damn it! I can’t get this lock open. Something’s jamming it.”

“It’s fine. Leave it alone. You can fix it later. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

“Right. I suppose I should say ‘good luck.’ or say a prayer for you.”

“For them…”

Chapter Two- Young Miss Amelia Moore’s Not Quite Final Lot In Life

“Hey, Mr. Carlson, would you mind slowing down a bit? The roads are awfully icy today. Not to mention all the potholes. They get worse every year. Don’t they?”

“Yeah, those cheapskate county commissioners can’t even fill a G-D hole in the road.”

“No doubt. But I don’t want to die today if I can help it. Slow down!”

“Ronnie, my young lad, death waits for no one. Besides, you’re young, you’ve probably got a long life ahead of you. Anyway, we’ll be there in a minute or two. Promise!”

The rusted out, dark colored sedan sped down Highway 235. It was an ominous carrier of the dead that could make the devil jealous. Mr. Carlson rolled through the iron gates in front of the old Preston cemetery. It had been the final resting place for the area’s deceased residents since the town’s founding in 1853.

“Please, there are people walking around. For the love of God, hit the brakes!”

The car coughed and wheezed much like Mr. Carlson often did as it slid to a stop on the ice-covered gravel path in front of plot number 187-B.

“Stopped, as promised, dear boy. See nothing to worry about.”

Mr. Carlson blew his nose and sneezed into a fancy, silk, light blue handkerchief. His face turned a deep shade of red from the momentary increase in his blood pressure, a most unfortunate side effect of his years of heavy drinking. He popped open the glove box and pulled out a plastic medicine bottle.

“You okay, Mr. Carlson. You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine. I just need these pills, now and again.”


“If only!”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“My heart, liver, lungs, and just about anything else inside of me.”


“Save your tears, lad, it’ll pass. Anyway, there’s work to be done. Let’s get set up. That is if you hope to own my funeral home one day.”

“Indeed, I do. It’s my dream. You know that. But just look at that changing weather. It’s freezing already. Can I, at least, grab my jacket before I get frostbite, sir? It’s right in the back here.”

“Jesus, you pansy go ahead. But be quick about it. And you leave that fancy, new coffin there to me, you hear?”

“Yes, Mr. Carlson.”

Ronnie quickly hopped out of the Accubuilt hearse and popped open the rusted out back door. The stench of death and embalming fluid was unmistakable. It nearly made him upchuck every time even after two years on the job.

He grabbed his well-worn emerald-green colored coat. The young man threw it on and gave it a quick swipe down the front. A look of disappointment spread across his pimple-covered face.

“Damn it! Come on!”

The music school community college dropout’s cursing and feeble plea to the universe were both in vain as the spicy, yellow mustard stain from his lunchtime chili hot dog remained. The primary color condiment blob was a sad homage to his poor eating habits.

A terrible, cholesterol-infused diet likely ensured the poor lad would not make it into the local Vancrest nursing home in the future. That thought didn’t faze him at all. He didn’t like green jello or thinking of old age anyway. Although several of the nurses who worked there were pretty hot, not that those uppity gals gave someone like him the time of day.

“Boy, did you get that coat yet?”

“Yeah, I got-”


“Ah, Mr. Carslon, I think you should see this.”

“See what?”


Mr. Carlson wobbled and waddled to the back of the hearse. Ronnie pointed to the coffin. And the old man’s mouth opened so wide that his bottom, discount dentures fell out onto the snow-covered gravel at his feet.

“It’s open.”

The old man shook as he bent to pick them up. He brushed off the once pristine porcelain teeth and shoved them between his cracked and chapped lips.

“I see. I’m not blind or deaf, kid.”

The pair slid out the coffin. Mr. Carlson lifted the lid a bit more and gave a peek inside. He gasped so hard that he choked on the air.

“It’s — ”


“Thank you Captain Obvious. Good to see that year of community college did you so much good. Seriously.”

“Sorry. But where is she, sir? She’s dead. It’s not like she just got up and walked out. Right?”

Um, yeah, I mean. She was, er, is dead.”

“Sir, is that an oxygen tank in there?”

“Never mind that. Just a special feature add-on from Japan. Shut the lid. Nobody has to know right now. We’ll figure out something later.”

“But we should tell somebody. The parents, family, or even the police…”

No, no, no! You tell not a solitary soul about this. No cops. This could ruin me. Losing a body! The state would take my license. You say nothing.”

“I don’t know. A missing corpse… That has to be illegal not to, at least, report it. I mean it’s not like you intentionally lost her. Right?”

“Of course not. Still, not a word. Swear it. You’ll keep your mouth shut, or you’re fired. Here and now!”

Ronnie paused. He rubbed his goatee. It was pencil-thin and mostly comprised of peach-fuzz, but he was proud of it. The young man had morals, but he also had a mountain of student loans to pay back.

“Fine. I promise. But who would want a dead body anyway?”


“What’s taking so long? It’s freaking freezing out here, Robert.”

“Emily, I’m sure they are doing the best they can to get every right for my daughter. It’s the least they can do for all the money I spent.”

“Well, they need to get this show on the road. That dumb, dead kid may not care that it is cold, but just look at my beautiful face and hands. How chafed they are! And my toes are cold.”

“Please, my dear, for me, just try to make the most of it.”

“Fine, but this shindig had better be over quickly. I’ve got things to do, my dear.”

Pastor Brooks was brief in his remarks for Amelia. That came as a welcomed blessing for the smattering of attendees including a rather sullen and shocked looking young people standing just outside earshot of everyone else.

“Look, I told you. Nothing to worry about. Nobody has said a word, Sarah.”

“But I’ve seen her father looking over in our direction. He knows, Mike. He knows something. I can tell.”

“No, that crippled old dude sees as well as he walks. At this distance, you could be anyone or anything. It’s amazing they still let him drive.”

“This was a mistake. We shouldn’t have come here.”

“I told you in the car that we had to show our faces here. We’re like the only friends Amelia had in school.”

“Hmm. Some friends we are after what happened to her. We should have — “

“Shh. Shoulda, coulda, woulda … Shut your mouth, Sarah! The service is over already.”

“Wow, that was fast. Amelia deserved better than that.”

Yeah, yeah. She’s dead. Okay? Now, let’s get back to the car before anyone comes our way, or we are buried alive under all this snow coming down.”

“Hey just a moment you two. I want to talk to you,” Robert said as he limped with all he had to catch up to the escaping pair.

“Oh, um, hey there, Mr. Moore. I sure am sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks. I just wanted to tell you how much it means to me that you guys showed up today. Amelia talked about you all the time.”

“It’s no problem, Mr. Moore. Sarah and I were happy to come to support you and Amelia. Such a shame, so young.”

“Yes, she was. But I want to especially show my appreciation to you Sarah. Ameila would be so happy to know that you cared enough to show your respects today.”

Uh, um — You see…”

“What is it, Sarah?”

“It’s nothing, Mr. Moore. Don’t mind her. Sarah is just shaken up by all this. It’s been hard to deal with. A real shock. Isn’t that right, Sarah?”

Sarah sniffled and dried her falling tears with the wadded up tissue in her hand. Mike put his arm around her. He pulled Sarah tightly against his chest and kissed her hard on her wet, red hair.

“Yeah, Mr. Moore. Amelia was something special. I’m just so, so sorry.”

“Look, we all are, Mr. Moore. Sorry, but we gotta go. My mom is expecting Sarah and me for dinner.”

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t want to disappoint, Bernice. You tell her I said hello. Okay?”

“Sure thing. You take care, Mr. Moore.”

Mike and Sarah walked away and then sped up to a sprint to reach Mike’s fancy, sonic blue-colored Mustang GT. It was a graduation gift from his father, not that he was ever around for his son.

“Jesus, Sarah, could you look any more guilty right now. Christ, you make OJ look like a saint.”

“Sorry, it’s just, Amelia, she’s dead. And we-”

“What’s this ‘we’ b-llshit? Do you have a mouse in your pocket, or what?”

“But you said we were in this together.”

“The only thing I want in…is you.”

“Are you even serious? Now?”

“Yes, let’s go! There’s a motel just up the road.”

“After all that’s happened. That’s all you want from me.”

Duh. I sure don’t date you for your brains.”

“I don’t think I can — ”

“You can, and you will. Here, take a pill. And chill the f out.”

Mike passed her a little red tablet from his designer shirt pocket. He pulled out a fancy copper flask from his high school letterman’s jacket. Sarah froze and not just from the terrible weather around her..

“You know I said, ‘No more, drugs.’ I’m done with all that.”

“What are you, some afterschool special? Go on, take it.”

The distraught young woman reluctantly grabbed it from her lover’s cold, clammy hand. After a lightning-fast pill popped into her mouth and a long, long swig of Southern Comfort, she soon no longer cared about anyone or anything.


Mike helped his comatose prize into his car with a hard shove. After hopping into his souped-up ride, he adjusted the rearview mirror musing at the wicked smirk spreading across his model-like-looking face.

“See, what did I tell you?”

Uh-huh. Whatever you say, baby.”

“Nothing to worry about at all.”

Chapter Three- Young Miss Amelia Moore Can’t Quite Pick Her Family

[Three days earlier]

“You think I should go to the funeral. Don’t you? Admit it, mother.”

“I didn’t say that, Jennifer.”

Grey, straggly, matted hair hung over the old woman’s red pockmarked and sullen face. Her once soft, sky blue eyes now artificially dilated. The pupils fidgeted as much as the poor woman’s cracked and wrinkled hands did. She was once Miss Ohio in 1998, but those days were long, long gone.

“So, you think I shouldn’t go?”

“I didn’t say that either.”

“You didn’t have to. I saw the look on your face after I got the text from dad today.”

The auburn-colored hair young woman believed herself good at reading people. In reality, she was rarely correct. And this time was no exception.

“Robert made his bed with that Emily thing. You’re not a kid anymore. You can make up your own mind.”

“And what about Amelia?”

“She’s your daughter. Not mine.”

Was. Your sister sided with him during our divorce. Testified in court for him.”

“Yes, she did.”

“Turning her back on her poor, sick mother. Why just look at me!”

If the sickly-looking woman was not in the hospital, she spent most of her time sitting in front of her used Zenith TV with an oxygen mask in one hand and a knockoff Marlboro in the other. The former beauty queen’s fall from grace was most precipitous. Worse, her current state was self-inflicted.

“I know. But she felt you were out of control. We all did. The drugs, the booze, and wild behavior…”

“Hey, I went through a rough patch. Okay? You sister ran like always when the going got tough for anyone, including herself.”

“Yeah, she’s not one to hang around when things are falling apart. That’s for sure. Can’t count on her for anything.”

“Amen, to that! At least, you stuck by me. I thank you for that.”

“Save your heartfelt appreciation. Someone had to stay here with you in your present condition.”

“You mean my supposed ‘drug’ problem. Right?”

“‘Supposed’? It got you three months in jail plus another 90 days in rehab.”

“I did my time. Okay? And those were prescribed by a real doctor.”

“Yeah, one who’s doing time himself now. You would still be there if I hadn’t agreed to live in this crappy, rat-infested trailer park with you.”

“True. But you could have at least tried more with your father.”

“Sure… You know, dad and I never got along. Amelia was always his pride and joy. Like her being born three minutes before me made her God’s gift to the universe or something. Seriously.”

“Perhaps, it was more about your own, um, penchant for finding pharmaceutical trouble.”

“Whatta ya sayin’?”

“Well, those aren’t exactly Monopoly game B&O Railroad tracks criss crossing your arms. Let’s be real.”

“Hey! Everyone makes mistakes. Okay? You know all about that.”

“To be sure, I do. But — ”

“And it’s not like Amelia didn’t find her share of trouble. Never met a man who she couldn’t charm the pants right off of. Many a businessman, a preacher, and more than a couple teachers… G-D it, she was such a dirty sl-”

“Language, missy. Show some respect for the dead and blood that binds us all.”

“Fine. But she was your daughter.”

“Touche, I suppose.”

“Besides, I could never afford the plane ticket out there. Travel is a fortune these days. And the debt collectors are all over me as it is.”

Jennifer’s credit card balances saddled her with soul-crushing amounts of debt that demanded repayment. A product of impulse buying and often trying to keep the lights on every month. She did what she could to make money, but it was never quite enough to stay in the black.

“You could ask your father.”

“Naw. He said he’s tapped out. Emily controls the purse strings as tightly as she does his limp co — “

“Again, language, this trailer is not a mansion — “

“That’s for sure.”

The furniture was dollar store-bought, mostly pink-painted. A well-used sofa chair, a testament to the good ol’ days of the 90’s was the only thing of any quality left in the place.

“But it’s also no house of ill repute either. Mind your manners. Plus. there’s always the bus. We did it before to get here. Remember?”

“Oh, I recall. Come on, that’s two days stuck on that smelly, old tin can of a Greyhound. For what? Her? She’s dead. Like she cares if I am there.”

“Maybe. But do you really want this little, old trailer to be your future? Look around you…”

The ‘Happy Little Bird’ trailer park was an extreme example of a sordid and squalid place to be sleeping at night. But with the economy and housing prices in the local area, there was no escape for someone like an old woman with a criminal record. The four rice paper-thin, recycled aluminum-covered walls they called home were the only things between them and being on the street.

“What are you saying exactly?”

“I’m saying your follically-challenged, philandering father may not have any money of his own, but he is connected to it.”


“Come on, think, you silly girl!”


“Good thing you are a might more pretty than you are dumb. C.R.E.A.M, honey.”

“Thanks for that flashback to remind me how old you are. Wow…”

“Hey, I’m just sayin’ someone like you might just charm her way into some real cash and security.”

“Emily is never going to give me anything. Dad said as much in his messages. That ship has sailed.”

“Then, why did he even bother writing to you?”

“He just thought I would want to know that Amelia was gone. And that I could come to the funeral if I could afford it. But there’s no money coming from him.”

“Perhaps, not, but your father and her now run in upper crust circles in that town. Right?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Those are ‘circles’ with opportunities for a young gal with, um, ample assets like yours.”

“Oh, that’s all you think I have to offer the world. My body…”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Again, you didn’t have to.”

“Girl, we all got gifts, okay? In the end, men are all the same.”

“Be serious.”

“Indeed, I most certainly am.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Look where your ‘gifts’ got you, mom. I’ll just drop to the floor and spread my legs wide. Problem solved!”

“Just stop! Anyway, Emily certainly isn’t likely to turn you out in front of all her snooty, judgmental Hog Creek Country Club pals especially after what happened to Amelia.”

“You think?”

“Baby, I know. Cha-ching! A high society- wannabe woman like that will do most anything to save face. Trust me, I would in a heartbeat.”

“Wow. You are some piece of work, mother.”

“Jennifer, dear, I’m only looking out for you.”

“Anyway, get me some coffee, will ya?”


They both could have really used something stronger. Jennifer stood up and with a fair amount of effort opened the can of outdated Folger’s crystals. She didn’t bother to get a spoon.

“Is that even a question in this trailer?”

“Sorry, I guess not.”

“Now, you pour me a fresh cup and get me one of those sugar-covered blueberry filled sticks in the fridge.

“Whatever. Here. It’s the last one, by the way.”

“Thanks. Now you go on and secure your future. I’m not gonna be around forever.”

“I know. Don’t remind me.”

Karen fumbled for her purse. She pulled a crumpled twenty-dollar bill and tossed some spare change in her daughter’s general direction. It was all she had left to her name until the next welfare check.

“Here’s your one chance, Jennifer. Don’t let me down. Okay?”

“I’ll try, mom. Alright?”

“That’s my girl. Love you.”

With that encouragement and visions of the pot of gold at the end of the proverbial rainbow dancing through her pretty, unwashed head left the trailer. Jennifer sloshed and swished her way through the snow-covered sidewalks and streets to the bus station in her ratty, old Nike sneakers. She was a frozen mess of a lass by the time she stood at the ticket terminal.

“What’ll it be, miss? Round trip?”

“One way, please.”

“I see. Not planning on coming back, miss?”

“No, the only way I’m ever coming back here is rich or in a cardboard box.”

(To be continued…)

Grey, Grizzled, and Gaijin

Originally published at on April 23, 2023.



Craig Hoffman

Craig is a #writer, #editor, #betareader & #blogger. 2000+ #blog posts & seven #ebooks including #shortstories “The Tempo of Tempura” and “Carl Crapper.”