The first cut is the deepest...

I'll begin this blog ahead of schedule, with an excerpt from my current book project. It's about a private eye solving the mystery of a missing friend in the near-future where girls are getting devices implanted into their brains that make them walking advertisements.

This is the beginning of the first chapter:

It was “one of those mornings” which seemed to be every morning for Blake, these days.

The morning glory vines crept along the graying wooden fence and leaped off at the end onto the stick remnants of a dying tree, which clasped to the tangled branches of a flourishing apple tree. Blake sat on the back deck of the large, green house, feet propped up on top of the short wall enclosing the space. The rocking chair she slumped down into looked like it was made from the same wood as the fence.  Every time she leaned over the armrest to pick up an amber bottle by its neck, using only her index finger and thumb, the wood fell into an uncomfortable creak which Blake replied to with a, "Shhhh" and a swig.

            The marine layer swept in unbeknownst to her and the sunlight behind it all made grey look greyer. A squirrel scurried across the vines and she wondered if its feet could even permeate the tangle to touch the top of the fence. Running on blossoms and floating on floral, what a sight for dimming eyes. She watched the squirrel’s progression, leaned back in her chair, and whispered, “Shhhhh.”

She heard creaking sounds that did not come from her chair. At the far end of the deck, a hunched, but by no means miniscule, figure clambered up the rickety staircase. It was a long and lean body, curved over at the top in a haphazard effort to hide its height. One slender, pale hand gripped the handrail and pulled the form up the last step and onto the deck.
            “Hey.” His voice was a low, long bass note that slipped out as he cocked his head to the side, letting the hair that was too long on top fall from one side to the other. He reminded her of a rooster.

She lifted the bottle in her hand and extended it towards him. With one eyebrow slightly raised, he took it from her and pulled one long pull off of it before handing it back. She did the same as he spoke.

“I haven’t heard from Tesily in a while.”

“Yeah, Deuce, not surprised.”

He extracted a bag of tobacco from the pocket of his button up shirt and began the process of rolling a cigarette. Stray strands of tobacco fluttered to the ground like burnt confetti and she thought of fire and celebrations and cancer.

“Well, I mean, she knew it had to happen eventually. We broke up months ago. Did she think I’d be celibate forever?”

Blake shrugged and raised the bottle to her mouth only to find it empty. Deuce noticed, opened the screen door, and walked inside the house. Blake remained seated, arm slung over the side of the chair, fingertip lightly tracing the mouth of the bottle. Deuce remerged holding two open beers.

“My hero.”

“Where’d the rest of that pack go? These were the last two.”

“What time is it?”

“The weather is throwing me off too. It’s about one thirty.”

They both looked out at the grey sky and contemplated inside themselves. He lit his cigarette and she admired the swirling grey of smoke that melded into the sky behind it. Everything grey, wispy and ethereal. She was drunk and started feeling godly, like she could snatch the smoke from the air and pin it down into something tangible. Something solid.

“You want me to call her? I haven’t heard from her in a long while, myself.”

He glanced at her without moving his head, just his eyes, and only for a moment. Then, he fixed them on something far away, past the morning glory clad fence and all of the grey beyond it. His hair flopped back and she thought of a rockabilly singer and vaguely remembered an old cartoon featuring a rockabilly rooster. She wondered if maybe he would start crooning to an invisible audience seated on grey clouds. Ohhhh, love. Ohhhh, life. Ohhhh, loooovvvveee.

But, he didn’t.