Yesterday, before I even got in the office, two of my coworkers impugned my moral standing.

Let me explain.

I parked in this parking lot yesterday across from my office. I had a good spot, about halfway up the parking lot to the doors. I got out of the truck and two of my coworkers came up, obviously having parked in spots not nearly as good as mine.

"How did this happen?" I asked, "how did I manage to get such a good spot?"

"I don't know," one of them said, "you obviously aren't living right."

Huh?

Then we get in the building and another coworker opens the door.

"Oh good!" she said, "I was looking around and the place was so empty I thought the Rapture had come! But then I saw that Harold wasn't here and I knew that couldn't be..."

[Note for the Fundamental-Christian Impaired: The Rapture is, supposedly, when the Lord is going to physically take all of his People into Heaven, leaving the rest of the sinners on earth to deal with the Great Beast, the Four Horsemen, the Antichrist and other Revalatory figures.

Number of Rapture references I have heard at this job: 3]

What the hell is all that about? True, my coworkers know that I drink on occasion, and smoke, and that I don't actually go to church or anything. But it's not like I come in, crack pipe in one hand, pimp-stick in the other, with my fifteen year old lover, Jacques, trailing behind me, doped up on poppers, smack and freon.

I think of myself as a moral person, if not a terribly religious one. I'm pretty good on the sliding scale of good-to-evil that has Hitler on one end and Ghandi on the other. True, I'm not the best person when it comes to customer service (apparently my lack of phone skills is legendary amongst my coworkers) but I hardly think that qualifies me as Highway to Hell material.

Then again, maybe it does.

This afternoon after Sonya got home I went down to Jack's to pick up the essentials (Coke, smokes, bread, Mountain Dew). As I came back down the hall, bag in hand, I heard Sonya scream.

Not good, I thought to myself.

Then I heard her scream again.

I hustled on down the hall and opened the door.

She was sitting in front of the computer, happy as a little girl. All the screaming was because Duran Duran is coming to town. Close to town, anyway; they're playing the Horseshoe Casino in nearby Robinsonville, Mississippi.

This, folks, is going to be the big upcoming event in my house for months to come. Throw in the fact that they're playing in Biloxi two nights later and, well...

Think about: Sonya can hear Duran Duran and, that very same night, dance on the sand. Oh, the cleansing synchronicity!

So I wrote something tonight, and I'm not sure if it's fairly cool or total crap. It's sort of a fantasy-type thing, in the school of Stephen King's Gunslinger books or Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere. Would y'all be interested in me posting it here? I'd love to get a running critique as I work on this thing, and if you all thought it was crap I could shut it down pert' damn quick.

So I'll open the floor. Let me know if y'all want to read even more Harold-generated prose. Pretty much one vote will get that shit online.

I've also considered HTML-izing Litany of Sins, my first novel, since it's pretty damned clear that no publisher is going to touch it? How 'bout that? Y'all want a book? It would be a lot of work for me, true, but I care about you so much. If my audience demands it I will certainly deliver.

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