Tis the road paved with good intentions, not to be confused with East Hell Boulevard, wherein Ed Coonce resides (www.edcoonce.com)
Fresh blood! If he’s got a pulse, he’s mine!
A new entry to our contest from someone entirely new to our site. Surprised his wingman isn’t Dante.
You still have a chance to win the REAL wingman, Horace, the bird to usher you across the river, captured and dipped in gold by Ed Coonce.
Here are the de-tails of the wingman contest:
A Night at the Inferno
By Michael R. Dilts
“I’m surprised they let women dress like that! What’s the name of this place?”
“Didn’t you read the sign?” my compagno asked without looking up.
“The one above the door with those funny words? Lashattie hog speranza whatever?”
“The other sign. The number.”
“666? That’s not the address?”
“It doesn’t mean anything to you?”
I thought for a moment.
“Takes all generi,” he muttered and kept on scribbling.
“Those three are… unspeakable. That one’s got an interesting Goth look with the cropped hair and singed nightgown. Oh, look! There’s one with a broom! Green skin, the wart on her chin is smaller than her nose… I’m in love! Twice around the room and she’s out the window… Quick, Dan, give me the keys!”
“Keys to what?” He reached for another sheet.
“To the car, uomo,” I insisted.
He laughed, for a change.
“We didn’t come by car.”
“C’mon, be an amico or I’ll just have to…”
“Scusi,” he interrupted. “It’s getting damnably hot in here!”
Rising, he removed his mantle and draped it on the empty stool next to him. With a shrug of his shoulders, he spread out a beautiful pair of leathery pinions.
“…wing it,” I concluded. “Where in Hades did you get those?”
“Won ‘em. Writing this.” He waved a claw at the mess of papers on the bar.
“Guess I’d better start working on my own story,” I decided.
Which is how I ended up here.