The long brick building was one of several circa 1950s factories that the University bought in the name of expanding the main campus. It has a big sign, chiseled in red stone over the door that says “Kentucky Macaroni Factory.” Several of the buildings have already been demolished to make way for lots of new athletic and academic buildings near the Papa John’s Cardinal Stadium, and while there is some discussion of historical preservation, the talk is largely outweighed by a collective sense of satisfaction with regard to progress. More of the same old bullshit that will fall into disuse like malls in the 80’s. Old Louisville had saved and restored quite a few buildings in the area—and anyway those had been all the “nice” buildings. No one wanted to go to any lengths to restore what was essentially a brick-walled two-story warehouse. And no one had intended for it to be housing. But there he is, standing in front of it, assignment in hand.

This is where his protestations had taken him; this loggerhead of a building with forlorn (though large) windows for eyes, looking out at the rest of the campus’s updated and sometimes futuristic architecture with some desire to join in the postmodern fun. Gene only thinks that he agrees with the University that housing this is not. He adjusts his shoulder bag, chock full of orientation guides, forms, letters, catalogs and campus magazines, and decides right then and there to make the best of it—to not only make the best of it, but to appreciate that this was the outcome intended, meant to be. He’d insisted that he would not live with a roommate and now: factory life. If only for a few moments, while speaking with the woman, the bureaucrat, in the Housing department, it had sounded like the department’s only solution to what was obviously their own foul-up in double-booking his apartment was going to be to simply cram him in with someone else. He is proud, at this moment of defiance, to know that he didn’t given an inch, because once he would have laid down in front of the door and painted “welcome” across his chest.

Read the whole story so far: A Field Guide to the Socially Inept

Characters and Places: Gene Copeland, Louisville

“If I’m as happy as I say I am, then I must be the loneliest person in the world.” Travis laughs. “Course, that doesn’t make me very happy.”

“Is that what’s been bothering you, then?” Melissa asks.

Travis shrugs. It seems too easy. “I guess.”

She has relief in telling him this: “You’re not alone.” She wants to lean on him, but, leaning toward him, holds off.

He waits a long time to respond, sure she’s finished. “I think that a lot of things have been bothering me—a lot of them over and over again. I’m not sure I’m gonna’ put it together for a long while. But, a good start would be what happened to you when I met you at the Engine Room that night.”

“Oh that? That was nothing—my Dad and I got into a fight.”

Travis nods.

She waits a while before she says, “He’s actually still not speaking to me.” Then, she rolls her eyes.

“He’s not speaking to you?”

Melissa nods.

“Well, that’s a quick way to resolve a dispute.”

“Yeah. Tell me about it,” and it’s her turn to look a long time into the mirror.

She looks like she’s going to spill. She jostles, trying to keep her balance, keep it from all coming out. Taking a drag off her cigarette, slowly, she says, swallowing hard, getting over shame, hoping she can trust him, “I got pregnant.”

Read the whole story so far: Carousel Cowboy

Characters and Places: abortion, Athens, Melissa Keller, mirrors, parents, Travis Fleeting

Travis and Melissa pass through a fountain of coolness that is the solid stone arch in front of 283, and as she sidesteps him to let him open the door, she opens him up too, by taking his hand for a just long-enough second before she bounces in front of him, illuminated by a thin neon light arcing over them both. Travis smells frying food from one of the restaurants down the street before he heads in behind her.

“Oh!” he says, acting surprised. “This is where it gets better!”

“I’m afraid.”

“Nah.”

As they move inside, they are pleasantly surprised to find that the bar reflects their moods. Mostly green, mostly empty, and mostly jazz, though at the intersections of these sensory dimensions there is clear room for turning them all up if desired. The bar seems to be quietly nodding off to sleep; with restless talk.

Travis sets his guitar case against the bar, and gently grabbing the gin bottle from Melissa, he puts it up on the bar. “How about two Sapphire and tonics, Harris?”

Harris says, “How was the show?”

“Welllll. It was a special night,” and he winks at Melissa, who blushes.

“Excellent.”

Melissa asks, “This is when it gets better?”

“Well… it’s free.”

Melissa crushes one eye in disapproval. “Girls always drink for free.”

“Only the pretty ones.”

She slaps his shoulder.

“Well, what did you think ‘better’ meant?”

“I didn’t think it meant me carrying the bottle,” rolling eyes, crossing her arms.

“La tee da.”

Read the whole story so far: Carousel Cowboy

Characters and Places: Athens, clandestine, jazz, Melissa, saffire and tonic, Travis Fleeting

Travis leaves 3D to play his show at the Washington Street Tavern, where he expects to be mostly ignored, ask the bartender for a six pack to take home, and watch a movie while quietly falling asleep in the blue chair. The means matter much more than the ends, as for days now, he has waited and waited for the advent of a stool on a quiet stage, and a PA system to amplify his personal challenge to the mundane. Who is listening matters not tonight.

If red could talk, it would speak of its emperor tyranny over nights on small planets with no oxygen or life; whose gloom it lit not brightly but slowly. Motions under a red sun weaken even Superman. If red could move, its motion would burn and blur. And maybe this is why the people who come to see Travis, the ones who think in silence, sit under red lights: to contemplate space without life. He does not know. Drenched in red are the souls of the quiet; the noise of their errant thoughts entrapped by cool postures that disdain words in favor of a music that suffers more pleasantly. At least when Travis plays, it can only ever be in the dark, red lights; orbiting jealous planets—red lights from the ceiling and red lights from the cigarettes that burn patiently. Patience is not the virtue of making time speed—it is patience that enjoys the wait. It’s those who are to be executed that smoke.

Read the whole story so far: Carousel Cowboy

Characters and Places: Melissa, music, show, Travis Fleeting

After scaring off the mysterious bartender from any more conversation, Bobby sidles up to the bar next to Travis. “What’s going on, asshole?” she asks—old joke. The first time Travis had met Bobby, he’d nearly got his lights knocked out on a stupid dare. It was just that Kristin and Daphne would not shut up about the shirt she was wearing—how horrid it was. To put an end to it, Nick offered to buy Travis two rounds if he would go inform Bobby of her fashion faux pax—of course, Nick had said something more like “vomit.”

Read the whole story so far: Carousel Cowboy

Characters and Places: Asshole, Bobby, Daphne Dearborn, dares, Kristen Shelley, Nick Vaughn, Travis Fleeting

Travis is surprised to walk up to the bar, and instead of finding Phil, finds an attractive, petite brunette with a sun tattoo on her arm, wiping down the counter.

“Slow night?” he asks.

The girl makes a face and takes his empty glass.

Okay, Travis thinks. “Shouldn’t that be a good thing?”

She just shrugs, and so after a second more of uncomfortable silence, he orders.

She pours him a beer, and sets it in front of him, takes his money, and before he walks away from the bar again, she leans on it expectantly. Well, she don’t talk much, but she’s no ‘yours’, for sure. “I mean, you’re not having to run around a lot tonight.”

Rearranging the sipping straws in a glass beside her, the girl nods in agreement. And just about when he’s worked up the courage to ask if she’s mute—which that would be interesting—she stands up and walks away. Travis looks around to see if anyone is watching this—and where the hell is Phil?

Read the whole story so far: Carousel Cowboy

Characters and Places: beer, drinking, Eva Pierce, Jokes, Mean Mike's, pranks, Travis Fleeting

Everywhere the vastness that is the ocean of perception is shaved to the focal point of the individual’s eyes. And this small cone of the tide is mine or yours to see (says those who can) and what is left is the vastness of the unseen, unpredictable; so much more than fate. Horizons unknown pass; vast patterns of evaporating clouds unindexed, move.

We are merely lucky if we see the whole: the pattern that has anything to do with our always moving, choosing, risking against the total probabilities; the roll of the dice that is easy on the house, but never to the player. Still we play. We play against the total absolute probability, always; for, we are alive. Maybe the house is dead… eventually, right? Then, there is simply life and death and only risk stands between us and the ultimate outcome. We choose to play or not.

Read the whole story so far: Incunabula

Characters and Places: destiny, fate, gamble, gambling, play, risk

“Hey, Fat Kid!” Travis calls. “You in here?”

The room is a massive jungle gym of four-by-four posts supporting a loft that, in itself is another room. The front half of the room, not covered by the loft, has three giant bay windows that look out to the pillars of the front porch and Milledge Avenue. There is a couch under the windows, and another one situated opposite of the first. From this second couch emerges a head, crowned by tattered black hair and bejeweled by two blue swollen eyes. “Ugh,” says Ian.

“Come on, Pirata!” says Travis, coming around the front of the couch. In a Mexican accent, “We are going eento town.”

“Wake up!” John chides, sitting on the couch under the windows. He pushes aside two empty whiskey bottles on the coffee table and puts his feet up.

Ian had sat up and is rubbing his eyes. He is shirtless and wearing jeans. “Man, what time is it?”

“‘Bout four,” replies Travis, sitting down next to him.

“Shit.”

“Have a good time?” asks John.

“It was nuts.”

Read the whole story so far: Carousel Cowboy

Characters and Places: Ian Fleming, Jon Riffing, practicing, small distracting house, Travis Fleeting, waking late

By evening, the rain has tapered off, and Travis decides (after watching too much TV when the cable comes back on) that somebody, somewhere, is playing. Something new, something new. A show’s the thing. So Travis pets Absinthe, who says goodbye by trying to claw his hand off, and then he heads out the door. All he needs to do is find some telephone pole covered in poorly photocopied 8 1/2” x 11” flyers and sure enough, as soon as Travis parks Mary Jane on Broad Street, he spots two playbills on the electric transformer by the sidewalk.

Read the whole story so far: Carousel Cowboy

Characters and Places: absinthe, Animals, Blue Sky Coffeehouse, Daphne Dearborn, Elf Power, Georgia Theater, Ian Fleming, Phil Allen, R.E.M., Travis Fleeting, Widespread Panic

After Travis finishes breakfast, he showers and dresses and steps out on the front stoop. Just as he does, he sees the Flod walking toward him. At first it appears that she might actually walk past him. She shuffle-steps at the edge of the stoop though. Travis gets out a cigarette and lights it and watches the Flod’s shoes out of the corner of his eye. From the motion of the sneakers, he sees her indecision.

Read the whole story so far: Carousel Cowboy

Characters and Places: motorcycle, rain, the Flod, time off, Travis Fleeting, unidentifiable stains