Truckin' August 2009, Vol. 8, Issue 8: And I'm back!

Yeah, that’s right! After a long hiatus, nearly a year! I am back in the pond of extremely talented, inspiring and godawful writers that walk the tracks of . Not a big piece this time. I wouldn’t want my thousands of readers to strain themselves because there are two-three more stories to come the next couple of months. I don’t write much these days. I’m on vacation, and have a full-time job redecorating our new flat. I’ll have an update for you "shortly" in the meanwhile, here’s what ‘s saying:

The August edition of Truckin’ marks the debut of Katitude, who shares a true road story about her adventures to Alaska on a motorcycle. This end of the summer issue also has several veterans with Art Rosch and Michael Friedman returning to the mix, and everyone’s favorite Norwegian, Sigg S. Amdal, is back with a dazzling tale. I’m happy to say that we’ll be seeing more of Sigge in the near future.


Modigliani by
Rafi handed me $25. The $20 bill was crisp, but the five singles were wrinkled. One of them had the eyes of George Washington blacked out by a pen…

by Sigg3
Bright light stung his eyes like an impenetrable carpet of white needles. He winked to dull the eyeball itch, trying to carve out some detail in the white dark. Was it completely clear or clearly a blizzard, he wondered, as everything outside the windows just displayed the distinct sharpness of a void?…

Top of the World by
The road twisted and curled around the mountains with no guardrails to soothe my fear of heights, and my bike was not handling well at all. The street bike, with the tires that already had a major trip’s worth of wear on them, was not made for this kind of terrain. The weight of camping gear raised the center of gravity and with every curve I thought I could feel the rear tire slide a bit…

by Michael Friedman
I had heard numerous horror stories about unsuspecting people being robbed on the side of highways by people they thought were going to help them. My heart almost pounded out of my chest when two 300-plus-pound Hawaiians got out of the small truck…

Fish Store by
He gunned the motorcycle. He turned the amplifier all the way up and thwanged a huge chord. He was going to accelerate into the swimming pool, electrocute, overdose and drown himself all at the same time. Someone would find his corpse in the next couple weeks, sitting there at the bottom of the pool on his Harley, with his Claxton Wanko guitar strapped around his shoulder, his Boogie Amp short-circuited, his blood full of dope…

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