I think I started this bit of fiction two and a half years ago. I've looked at it from time to time, but never gone anywhere with it. Given my mood as of late, the stars may be right to expand it.

Please note that this isn't all I've written, and it's by no means a finished, or even polished, product. Comments are nonetheless welcome.


A year ago she took up the worship of a dead god, acquired and failed to kick a fungus habit, and was photographed in the company of SS men thought to have been executed on the Eastern Front in 1944.

It was not a good year for her, according to the liquor store clerk and the revolver-carrying Malaysian in the back room of her favorite Chinese restaurant. She, of course, said otherwise.