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Blood, Guns and Whores -- Chapter 26. Not Such A Bad Day

Blood, Guns and Whores -- Chapter 26. Not Such A Bad Day

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Published by W. Ross Ayers
Chapter 26 --- “Blood, Guns and Whores – An All American Tale of a Boy and His Dog“, is a coffee table novel TM made of micro chapters and illustrations about a boy growing up in the small farming community of Blissfield, Michigan and on to adulthood in San Francisco.

W. Ross Ayers

Goto http://www.BloodGunsAndWhores.com to read all the posted chapters, check out how this is cool and different. Or just buy the book to get the full rich experience of the illustrations, artwork, and story in the way it was meant to be experienced.
Chapter 26 --- “Blood, Guns and Whores – An All American Tale of a Boy and His Dog“, is a coffee table novel TM made of micro chapters and illustrations about a boy growing up in the small farming community of Blissfield, Michigan and on to adulthood in San Francisco.

W. Ross Ayers

Goto http://www.BloodGunsAndWhores.com to read all the posted chapters, check out how this is cool and different. Or just buy the book to get the full rich experience of the illustrations, artwork, and story in the way it was meant to be experienced.

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Published by: W. Ross Ayers on May 20, 2011
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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05/23/2012

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Blood,
 
Gunsand Whores
 
~
An All American Tale
 
of a Boy and His Dog 
Writtenand Illustrated by W.Ross Ayers
 An SFWC Co-Publishing Studio Production © 2011 by LND, inc. All rights reserved 
 
, is a coffee table novel
TM
madeof micro chapters and illustrations about a boy growing up in the small farming community of Blissfield, Michigan and on to adulthood in San Francisco.W. Ross Ayers
Goto www.BloodGunsAndWhores.com to read all the posted chapters, check out how this is cool and different or to  just buy the book.
26. Not Such A Bad Day
We sat at the long tables, in the noisy auditorium, playing euchre, eating lunch.
“Let’s do something really cool at the end of our senior year.”
I peeled my orange strip by strip, setting pieces of the rind next to my peanut butter and jelly sandwich infront of the small carton of milk.
“Whadya wanna do?”
 
“I dunno know, something really spectacular.”“At the Clinton Airport you can parachute. They have a class. I say we go parachuting.”
 
“That sounds great. Let’s do it.”
 
“Whadya guys think?”
 
“I’m in.”
 
“I’ll do it...if my parents let me.”
 
“Screw that. I’m doing it anyway. I don’t give a shit what mine say,”
I said.In my bedroom on the second story of our old farmhouse, I looked up the number to the Clinton airport in thethin Lenawee County phone book.I pushed the square plastic buttons on the upstairs phone.
“Hello, Clinton Airport.”
 
 
“I have a question about your parachuting classes. When are they, how much do they cost and how olddo you have to be?”
 
“We have classes every other Saturday morning. They are ninety dollars and you have to be eighteen.”
 
“Okay, great. Um...
 
if someone is seventeen can a parent sign for them?”
 
“No, we used to do that, but the state changed the law. You have to be eighteen now.”
 
“Hmm? Okay...thanks...bye.”
 
Click.
I was seventeen. I was going to parachute. This sure as hell wasn’t going to
stop me.I had a plan.And no way in hell was I going to tell anyone what it was. This was way too important to be messed up bysome loose-lipped idiot. No one would know, not even my friends. Not even the Yard Apes.
“Mom, all the guys and me want to
use some of our graduation money and parachute at the Clinton
Airport. Can I?”
 
“Well...you’re only seventeen. You can do it if I don’t have to sign for you.”“Yeah, I talked to them already. That’s not a problem.”
 
Well...I guess I can’t stop you then. It’s up to you.”“Cool. Thanks.”
 
I wasn’t eighteen, but Rich was nineteen.
 
I knew that Rich’s and my social security cards and birth certificates were kept in the gray metal safety box inthe closet of my parent’s bedroom.
 I waited a few days and then took the first step in my plan.
“Hey Mom, I was thinking since I am getting ready to go to college next year I should start taking care of my social security card and my birth certificate.”
 
“Yes, you probably should. That’s very responsible of you Walt. I’ll go get’em.”
 
“No, no. That’s no problem. I know where they are. I’ll get them. Don’t worry.”
 
Over the next few months, one by one they dropped out.
“My mom won’t let me do it.”

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