I’ve been posting chapters from my new book, More Gods Than Men, on Amazon’s WriteOn. This invitation-only service is a sort of fiction workshop that allows folks to comment and edit books on the fly. The best thing is that I can give you guys access to the service now using the code V6BBECGE. Simply cut and paste that code into the box!
Read on to get a taste of the new book.
The scuttled down Sixth Avenue for a long time, heading south, towards the water. Their cart full of cans rumbled behind them, one wheel nearly off, the metal sometimes scraping on the sidewalk. The other pickers avoided them. The old Chinese men and women stayed off their route and a woman, probably Polish, who smoked and spoke to the dark sky at Union Street, hissed as they passed.
They turned towards the Canal and stopped at St. Thomas Aquinas Church on 9th Street where they sorted their cans under a street light next to the subway stop. They liked to complete their work behind the wrought iron fence surrounding the old brick church and at 2am no one bothered them, not even the priest who later found hundreds of plastic bottle tops and cigarette butts in his perfectly pruned azalea bushes. They spoke their own language, their hunched shoulders bouncing as they coughed and hacked, their fingers buzzing through dark plastic bags, categorizing the cans, segregating them, sniffing them sometimes for a whiff of beer or the sweet tang of cola. The King loved aluminum and steel most of all, but steel, these days, was hard to come by. That night they had found and destroyed an old television and now they dug through an old computer monitor, discharging it with a zap using the fence as a ground, then digging through the electronics for copper scrap. The air around them smelled of ozone and their breath grew hitched, quick. They were excited. This was their last stop before their offering.