Finally I have a visual of what my days are like. Thanks to this ad for the second season of the Sarah Connor Chronicles, I can show everybody what my back looks and feels like every second of the day going back to June of 1977. One of my ways of getting minor relief is using this odd little cane with knobs on it to screw around with various pressure points. But this ad shows it all, like an invisible spade trying to pull my shoulder blade out from my spine. That's why I'm on that skewed road by myself: I leave too many little bits of metal and flesh on the ground behind me. I'm in Nazareth because I have a job I can't talk about, I have to write approx. 400 pages of fiction is all I can say. I'm hoping I can do this and then cowboy up to write my novel CITY WITH NO SECOND CHANCES, which is a follow up with my cop character Frank St. Cyr's breakdown in "Shank Of The Night," from SEX CRIMES. Imagine that shredded muscle tissue moving as I type those pages. If I'm lucky, I'm not headed towards an October Gethsemane...
