Fergie was sitting in the car with the windows down, watching her, his cheeks burning in night’s chill. Watching one woman while thinking about another one. Lyrics, floating through his mind: When I go to hell/please forward my mail.

          From where he sat in the driver’s seat of his car, in the rear parking lot of her apartment complex, hidden under the drooping branches of a willow, he could see her clearly through her balcony sliding doors. She and Brad never closed the big vertical blinds. Fergie had seen a lot through their windows.

click forCHAPTER 2

Five people were sitting in there tonight. Watching the Olympic swimmers on a projection TV image the size of a one-car garage door.

One look at Daciana as teenagers, and he felt something he had never imagined.

That first look, and he knew two things with surety: I am going to fall in love with that girl, and she is going to break my heart. The certainty was like something outside of himself. He believed it fully. And it had happened. Here he was.

Welcome to our “chapter by chapter” work in progress, titled “PLEASE FORWARD MY MAIL”! We’ll link the book chapters together each time a piece of the story is published. When it seems “done” we gon’ go ahead and polish and then publish this bad boy! Good, bad, ugly or a mix of all three. Come on back! ~Chris DeBrie