Michael Tolliver Lives
Chapter One
Confederacy of Survivors
Not long ago, down on Castro Street, a stranger in a
Giants parka gave me a loaded glance as we passed each
other in front of Cliff's Hardware. He was close to my
age, I guess, not that far past fifty-and not
bad-looking either, in a beat-up, Bruce Willis-y sort of
way-so I waited a moment before turning to see if he
would go for a second look. He knew this old do-si-do as
well as I did, and hit his mark perfectly.
"Hey," he called, "you're supposed to be dead."
I gave him an off-kilter smile. "Guess I didn't get the
memo."
His face grew redder as he approached. "Sorry, I just
meant ... it's been a really long time and ...
sometimes you just assume ... you know ..."
I did know. Here in our beloved Gayberry you can barely
turn around without gazing into the strangely familiar
features of someone long believed dead. Having lost
track of him in darker days, you had all but composed
his obituary and scattered his ashes at sea, when he
shows up in the housewares aisle at Cala Foods to tell
you he's been growing roses ... read full excerpt from Michael Tolliver Lives ebook