An open-air man, Powell had been to cities. To Houston, and Denver, and San Francisco that one time for his cousin’s bachelor party. But there was something about the city ahead that made him shudder. It reminded him of his few trips to New York, that city that never sleeps. If you could make it there, the saying went, you could make it anywhere, and maybe even if that was true, Powell never understood why anyone would want to make it there, even if they could.
Powell had that rush he would get on the road to the launch pad. The pre-flight butterflies that caused his chest to tighten, his face to go flush, and the taste of adrenaline to coat his mouth, down to his teeth and gums. The difference between now and then was just so very small, but even if for just a few seconds, that intense queasiness would make him question in a shameful, shaky handed way if he knew what the hell he was doing, and consider that maybe he’d be better off hauling ass in the opposite direction and skipping out on the whole damn thing.
But then the intensity of the panic subsided—the urgency of the present snapping him back from his fears of a worst possible future, one that would require him to confront the demon at the gates. He steadied himself, because like his father told him: Nerves only mean you ain’t completely stupid. Get over it, boy. There’s work to be done. The clarity and confidence of his father’s voice resonated more than ever.
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Read the rest in Crossline by Russ Colchamiro.
My thanks to Lola’s Blog Tours for the opportunity to participate in this tour and the materials (including the book) they provided.
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