Pompton Lakes - guided tour of North Jersey (715 hits)
Category: RomanceLabels: The_Malleys
Rating: 1.07 on 22 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Axolotl (View user info) at 2006-07-25 18:54:15 EDT
http://www.ubersite.com/u/axolotl/l/the_malleys
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"I'm home," Donald McMichael said, walking up the office stairs to where Virgil O'Duinen and John Malley watched coverage of the shooting in Miami airport. "What's this?"
"Some bipolar fuck was on a plane, and said he had a bomb 'cause he was the goddamn rainman," Virgil replied in a grunt. "The air marshals shot his psycho ass dead in front of all the passengers."
"People getting shot all over," Don McMichael said, shaking his head in regret. "Michael Brecher's out of the hospital with his left ear blown off, that klansman, Delvecchio...speaking of shootings, people getting shot...you know I hate to be the bringer of bad news..."
"What? What?" John said agitated, immediately standing up. "Who got shot?"
"John, don't raise your voice, I get real nervous," McMichael said, stepping back. "I hate to bear bad news. Pat Coyle was found."
"So what?" Virgil barked. "Did he get shot, or what?"
"He was in Brookdale Park, his head jammed down a toilet and four shotgun blasts in him. There wasn't a lot left of his face to identify him by, I heard." Don McMichael finished up the last sentence in a tone of dismay, wringing his hands as John Malley's veins rose to the surface of his skin.
John's face turned red, his eyes twitching. Shaking his head firmly, John appeared to stumble, catching himself on the desk, his arms shaking. John's fingers trembled as Donald McMichael quickly put his hands on his boss' shoulders to stabilize him.
"Take it easy, John," Donald said, putting an arm around John's shoulder. "Just breathe, and breathe."
"You know what?" asked John, his voice cracking. "I think I might have to take a break from this stuff. I think I'm going to go to my house, and maybe just take a vacation."
"Yeah, that's a real good idea," Virgil said in a strained tone, awkwardly thumbing his belt. "Yo, I'll send over Johnny Broadus to watch over you, make sure nothin' happens to you, see?"
"You and Mike take over the business on the streets," John said, shaking his head involuntarily. "I...I gotta go home." With that, John walked out the door and down the stairs of the office, leaving Donald and Virgil looking incredulously at one another.
* * *
"I can't believe Dimiglio wants us to go after John's son," Bo Petroso said as the car wound along the mountain roads.
"John's been fucked up as of late," Marcus Toussaint replied as Chris Virgino steered through the forests of Passaic County. "Being under serious stress, and cutting from work early. Dimiglio says to go after his son to make it well known that he runs Jersey."
"Dimiglio's a hard-ass motherfucker," added Chris Virgino. "I remember when I started working for the family as a made man, he was the boss. He made this guy Capistrano deaf in Newark on account of he hit him in the head with a brick. He was always busting people's heads with pipes and knocking shit around...
"Cool," Marcus said.
"He got arrested for RICO in '83 and was convicted and sentenced in '84. Heard he shivved a guy in jail, too. Twenty-one years in the prison in Rahway, and he's out to terrorize the kiddies once more."
"Hardcore," Marcus muttered.
There had been no snow yet that winter, but it was bitterly cold as Chris Virgino, Bo Petroso and Marcus Toussaint drove up through the forested hills north of Paterson in Passaic County. They had driven across the broad Pompton Plains, and were nearing Pompton Lakes, on a low mountain overlooking all of North Jersey.
"Ain't it a view?" Petroso asked simply.
"Shut up," Marcus returned, the car nearing a precipice above the Pompton Plains. "It's motherfucking New Jersey, all we are is landfills and highways, ain't no motherfucking view."
"I'm just sayin' it's a nice view. You can see all the way down the valley to Wanaque, all the way up north, is all."
"Shut the fuck up, this is business," Chris Virgino snapped, parking his car in a gravel lot. "Bo, stay in the goddamn car and keep an eye out. Marcus, get your Glock and follow me. Don't shoot, let me do the action."
Across the parking lot, college freshman Nick Malley and his slightly younger girlfriend Erica were locked in an embrace in Nick's car on a cliff overlooking the Pompton Lakes. Nick had always thought the name sounded romantic, something he had always liked.
"Are those guys looking for you?" Erica asked, peering over Nick's shoulder. "You know them?"
Nick turned around to see the skinny, gel-haired Chris Virgino and the broad, black Marcus Toussaint, their hands in their jackets. Nick sat up quickly, banging his head on the car roof and cursing.
"Did their car break down?" Erica asked sleepily.
"Erica...you gotta go," Nick said, his voice shaking as he frantically opened the glove compartment to check if there was anything that could be used as a weapon. "Just get out of the car, now! Go someplace, just get out!"
"Fuck you, Nick," said Erica angrily, opening the door. "If your friends are more important than I am..."
"Outta the way, bitch, we got things to do," Marcus said sharply, raising his jet-black gun. Erica screamed and ran off through the dark rocky grounds above the lake. Nick lunged for the power locks, but Chris Virgino got to the door first, opening it up and standing in the frame like a tall, wiry devil, his air in horned spikes in the moonlight.
"Hey Nicky-boy," Chris said, his pistol still tucked in his holster. "Nothing personal, just politics. Maybe this will let your dad know exactly who runs North Jersey."
"I'm not involved!" Nick shouted, squirming away into the far side of the car, kicking wildly as Virgino shoved his torso into the car. "Please, go away! Talk to my dad! He's John Malley, don't hurt me!"
"Come on," Chris Virgino said in disgust, dragging Nick out by his feet. "Come on, let's go. Face it like a man."
"No! Jesus, no, not now!" Nick Malley screamed as Virgino pulled him by his legs out of the car and onto the cold gravel. "I'm not old enough, I'm not involved! Please, just talk to my dad! Leave me alone!"
Marcus Toussaint reared back and kicked Nick in the shoulder, silencing his cries. Nick's eyes watered, his mouth forming soundless words. Chris Virgino reached into his holster and drew his gun, and clicked off the safety. "Sorry, kid," Chris said, placing the barrel against Nick's forehead.
"Please!" Nick begged, his voice cracking as he sobbed. "Don't do it, I'm not involved...I'm not involved..."
"I'll be sure to tell your father how much of a man you were," Chris Virgino said in distaste, setting the gun in contact with Nick's head. Virgino took a deep breath, thumbing the butt as Nick moaned; with that, he pulled the trigger.
* * *
Michael Brecher and Paul Ciceri knew they had bad timing as they walked into John's house to find a screaming argument between Mr. and Mrs. Malley. Virgil and Donald timidly sat in the living room while John and Ashley argued in the kitchen. Alexa and Jeff were seated across from Virgil and Donald.
"Our own little boy nearly murdered by these thugs, and you're not going to lift a finger?" Ashley shouted. "They put a gun to his head and fired, and you're doing nothing?"
"I know Dimiglio's games, the gun wasn't loaded, and Nick is perfectly fine," John replied. "There was never any danger to Nick, it was intimidation."
"Never any danger? Nick wants to move as far away from here as possible now, he's scared shitless of what these criminals will do to him. This what you wanted, John? Your son getting hurt because of you and your big gangster families fighting?"
"You knew what my family was when you married me," John said. "You knew what we were, who Jackie and my father were. You were excited, because I was a 'dangerous guy,' a 'bad boy.' People get killed, Ashley, and you should be thankful that Nick isn't hurt."
"Can you believe this?" Ashley said, turning on Michael Brecher.
"I have no opinion either way on the subject," Michael replied in a diplomatic monotone.
"Whatever," Ashley said bitterly. "You big tough men deal with this however you want. Alexa, come with me upstairs."
"Yes," Alexa said nervously, arising and following her infuriated mother up the stairs to the top of the house.
"You're not going after Virgino?" Michael asked. "Not after pulling an unloaded gun on your son?"
"If someone did that to my son, I'd shit a brick," Virgil said in a philosophical air. "Then I'd make sure that they took a swimming lesson with me in the Passaic River, with cement water wings."
"I don't want to go after Virgino, I don't need war," John said in defeat. "I'm not saying that they can do this with impunity, but Nick wasn't hurt. Virgino is Dimiglio's man, I can't touch him. We have to wait and see how things turn out. I'm sorry, guys..."
"You gotta admit, it's pretty cool," Jeff said.
There was dead silence in the room. Virgil looked away while Donald made a slitting-throat gesture; he stopped when John Malley's glare struck him. "Care to repeat that, Jeffrey," John asked coolly. "You think it's cool that my son was dragged from his car with a gun to his head?"
"Just saying, the concept is cool, not the execution," Jeff clarified, far less confidently.
John stood stock-still for a moment, and calmly grabbed an ashtray from the table. Almost serenely, John swung his arm and shattered the ashtray on Jeff's head. "You stupid fucking eighteen-year-old punk," John growled, slamming his fist into Jeff's face. "Brainless—fucking—pussy—you think this is cool, punk? You think getting your fucking face smashed in is cool?"
"Easy, John," Virgil said, genteelly pulling John off Jeff while Donald discreetly swept away the broken ashtray.
"That piece of shit thinks he can go after my son?" John fumed, biting his lips. "Kill him. Michael, take two good men and take Chris Virgino out."
"Understood, godfather," Michael Brecher replied stiffly. Paul nodded his head, his emotions mixed.
"Make it slow. Make him know that he couldn't get away with it," John added.
"I will do this as well," Paul Ciceri said. "Chris Virgino is dead to me."
"I'm not a fucking doormat," John said with a sneer. "Teach Virgino a lesson he won't live long enough to forget."
* * *
The snow had fallen heavily on the Meadowlands, the first snow of the season, but in Harrison, New Jersey, the endless stream of trucks passing around the Dimiglio Warehouses by the Passaic River at Cape May Street had melted the whiteness. Michael Brecher drove through the slush, his heart thumping and his mind on the pistol in his belt. Paul Ciceri sat in the passenger's seat, a shotgun laid across his lap. In the back was Peter Malley, armed and ready to defend his nephew and brother.
They were on a long road in the industrial section, just across the river from the city of Newark. The road fell away into a muddy ditch on the left, and into a row of picturesque factories on the right. Michael, Paul and Peter exited the car, and looked up at the Dimiglio Warehouse, underneath which a man was unloading a large truck.
"Chris Virgino's our target," Paul Ciceri said, aiming his shotgun safely at the wet asphalt. "These are my family. Don't kill anyone but Virgino."
"We'll do it together?" Michael asked grimly.
"All three of us," Paul said. "That man's name is Robert Petroso, we call him Bo."
Bo Petroso climbed out of the back of the truck, having carefully checked all the merchandise was undamaged and accounted for. He was a heavy man in a light blue buttoned shirt, and a scraggly beard, and up in the front, Marcus Toussaint and Chris Virgino were waiting for his word.
"Yo, Bo," Paul Ciceri addressed, momentarily shocking Petroso. Petroso turned around, leaning against the truck, and faced the three men, armed and presented like wild cowboys coming to get Virgino at high noon.
"Paul! Hey, what are you doing here?" Bo said in false cheer. "I was just driving up here to get my shit together for Virgino..."
"Is he up there?" Michael asked.
"What?"
"Are you alone?"
"Oh yeah, of course I'm alone," Petroso said innocently, raising his hands. "I drove here, I'm unloading the stuff. It's just me, I'm not doing anything, I'm just chilling here. I'm cool, I'm cool."
"Petroso, get your ass up here!" the deep, commanding voice of Marcus Toussaint shouted from the driver's seat of the truck. "How long does it take you to check the goods?"
"Fucking liar," Michael said angrily, drawing his gun and aiming it at Petroso's head. "Virgino's up there too, isn't he?"
"No, not at all, just me and Marcus, me and Markie," Petroso said, stuttering and speaking rapidly. "Me and Mark, Mark and me."
"Shut the fuck up!" Paul hissed.
"Guys, I don't know what this is all about, I'll shut up, I'll shut up," Petroso said nervously, raising his hands in submission and leaning back against the truck, laughing nervously. "Don't worry, I'll be real quiet, don't you guys worry."
"Shut up!" Michael shouted in rage, raising and firing his gun. The bullet burst onto Petroso's dress shirt, spattering blood onto his breast; he slumped against the truck, and Paul looked at Michael silently. Michael fired again, and Petroso's large belly shook with the impact. As Michael pounded Petroso with gunfire, Paul Ciceri reluctantly leveled his pistol and fired along with Michael; Petroso shivered with the gunshots scorching his chest and stomach, and fell down, under the truck.
"Fuck," Paul muttered. Paul's eyes looked upward and saw Marcus Toussaint, a tall black man, staring with his mouth open at Petroso's bullet-ridden body. Marcus locked eyes with Paul, and immediately broke into a run back toward the front of the truck.
"Virgino! Get in your car!" Marcus yelled. "They got Petroso, get a gun and get out of here!"
Paul Ciceri vainly rounded the truck and fired off a shotgun round, missing Marcus. Chris Virgino was sprinting from the truck to his black sports car, escaping Michael's wrath.
"Hand me my motherfucking Glock!" Marcus hissed. "Where's the Mac-10?"
"Got it," Virgino said, clambering into the back seat. "Get on that, and drive! Get out of here, anywhere!"
Marcus ignited the car as Michael Brecher, Peter Malley and Paul Ciceri stood in the lot, defenseless as ducks. Leaning out of the car window, Virgino fired his submachine gun, bullets careening wildly off the asphalt. A ricochet burst up and winged Paul Ciceri's elbow as Virgino's car roared away down the road and into the distance.
"Shit," Paul said, checking his bloody elbow. Michael was unharmed, but was on the ground with Peter Malley. Seeing Peter motionless, Paul's stomach dropped and he said, "Was he hit?"
"Oh no..." Michael breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Oh no...John's not going to like this...no...no..."
"What did he—Jesus..." Paul said, walking over to see and immediately turning white. Peter Malley was lying prone, a bullet hole in his cheekbone. His eyes were glazed, and blood was pouring down onto the street around him. "It's not fatal, tell me it's not fatal, Mike..."
"Fuck me, oh, this is serious," Michael said in an unnatural voice, running his fingers through his light curly hair. "Shit...do we call the hospital? Say that drug dealers got him and Petroso?"
"Call Virgil," Paul replied, looking down at Peter's prostrate body. "He's breathing, Mike, he's breathing. It's not too late."
* * *
In Hackensack, Virgil O'Duinen was up in the Sullivan Family Offices delivering the monthly Paterson Crew cut to John Malley personally. Sending John his cut of usually around forty thousand dollars each month had previously been Raymond Ventry's job; in the light of his recent disappearance, Virgil only trusted himself to do it.
"Here you are," Virgil said, handing John a large manila envelope. Don McMichael was watching porn on a nearby computer, his eyes glazed as he drank a Harp beer. "Forty-five thousand dollars from bid-rigging, drugs and fraud. It's the trifecta—Victimizing the state, individuals, and businesses."
"So I've heard," John said, somewhat agitated, accepting the package. "Sorry I'm not as enthusiastic, I'm just concerned. Right around now Chris Virgino should be having his brains blown out over his passenger's seat."
"Be careful with everything John," Virgil said warily. "I can stay here with you if you want, my son's watching over the streets in Paterson—hold on, got a call."
Virgil raised his cell phone to his ear and said, "It's Mike...Hey, Mike! How's it going? Virgino..."
The color drained from Virgil's face and he clenched his teeth, a vein throbbing in his icy forehead. Virgil let out a fierce roar, startling Donald McMichael. "You stupid motherfucking pieces of shit..." Virgil snarled. "How bad is it? Jesus Christ, a head shot? Motherfuckers, call the hospital right now and say that some colored Newark dealers hit you and the other...stay where you are, call the police, and stay cool. I'll be down immediately."
"What happened?" John asked hurriedly as Virgil hung up his cell phone.
"Someone's brains got blown out at least," Virgil sighed. "Those retards...Paul and Michael...John, I'm sorry. Paul and Michael hit Bo Petroso, so Chris Virgino shot Peter through the head with a Mac. Peter's hurt badly."
"My brother Peter?" choked John. "You're fucking kidding me...you're absolutely fucking kidding me."
A phone rang again; this time it was the phone on the desk. Don McMichael paused the porn on the computer and answered it cordially, his face falling.
"Sorry, John, it's Dimiglio on the phone," Don McMichael said, his lips trembling.
"What does he want?" burst John.
"He says he wants the bodies of Paul Ciceri and Michael Brecher on his doorstep in twenty-four hours."
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Will Michael and Paul surrender to the Godfather?
Will Virgil O'Duinen finally start taking his meds?
Will Jeff Nolan, at long last, get laid?
Find out...whenever I have time to write the next one. I've been busy. Saturday I leave for a young leader's conference in Washington, and I won't be posting for a while.
Now I present the wonderful land of North Jersey. I recommend you all eat at Newark's Iberian Peninsula, the finest Portuguese cuisine in the East Ward, located on 66 Ferry Street.
User Reviews
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2006-07-27 05:06:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by CHR15 (user info) at 2006-07-27 04:47:24 (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-26 13:25:03 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by CHR15 (user info) at 2006-07-26 07:04:35 (#)
Ranking: -2
x
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Wake up on the retaliatory side of the bed today, douchenozzle?
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I always do, by the way, are your parents siblings?
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IU dunno about that but I heard that Axolotl's mum is hawt.
Axol rose, you should totally camwhore the female members of your family as it would be immense.
Submitted by CHR15 (user info) at 2006-07-27 04:47:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-26 13:25:03 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by CHR15 (user info) at 2006-07-26 07:04:35 (#)
Ranking: -2
x
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Wake up on the retaliatory side of the bed today, douchenozzle?
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I always do, by the way, are your parents siblings?
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-26 13:25:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by CHR15 (user info) at 2006-07-26 07:04:35 (#)
Ranking: -2
x
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Wake up on the retaliatory side of the bed today, douchenozzle?
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-07-26 12:47:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Great, as always.
Submitted by CHR15 (user info) at 2006-07-26 07:04:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
x
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-26 00:14:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by kai070169 (user info) at 2006-07-26 00:11:59 (#)
Ranking: 2
WTF I'm not reading all that!
Where EXACTLY did Chrissy shoot that russian fuck when he was lost in the woods with Paulie?
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He shot him a little of the Jersey Turnpike, the scene was filmed in the Pine Barrens of Ocean County.
I pass by Sopranos filming sites everywhere around where I live. Any other questions re: locations?
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-26 00:13:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
User id: 19539
Registered on or around: 2005-06-08 17:12:08
# Messages posted: 201
# Reviews written: 4995
# Times these posts have been reviewed : 5995
# Hits: 216411
Average rating of all messages: 1.46
Submitted by kai070169 (user info) at 2006-07-26 00:11:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
WTF I'm not reading all that!
Where EXACTLY did Chrissy shoot that russian fuck when he was lost in the woods with Paulie?
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-26 00:06:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Sign in with your real username, Sphagnum. I tend to skim over anything your alter writes.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-26 00:05:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Antioxident (user info) at 2006-07-25 22:19:20 (#)
Ranking: 1
I fucking hate new jersey
but have a plus one for effort
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How can you hate the lands of highways and garbage?
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-07-25 23:22:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by awesome_face (user info) at 2006-07-25 23:13:22 (#)
Ranking: 2
JESUS CHRIST SHUT THE HELL UP!!!!
Okay, okay. You don't have to shout.
And don't call me Jesus Christ.
Submitted by awesome_face (user info) at 2006-07-25 23:13:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-07-25 23:00:39 (#)
Ranking: 2
I've been told in the past that I have too much exposition in text, so I put it in dialogue instead.
I have to +2 that comment. Hilarious.
Exposition is exposition, and dialogue is dialogue.
They are two different things. Do you put dialogue in the exposition? No. That would make it dialogue. Unless one character is actually explaining something about which the other character knows nothing, it is generally unnatural sounding to put that shit in the dialogue.
If someone on this site told you you had too much exposition, maybe it was true and maybe it wasn't. Maybe they have ADD. The people on this site don't generally seem to appreciate any lengthy fiction. But if you had too much exposition, and you decide to put it in the dialogue, you're just moving it around.
Expository dialogue is extremely difficult to pull off because it is inherently unnatural.
Sometimes you have to do it, because the reader needs the info, but if you're writing a short story, PRACTICALLY EVERYTHING EXCEPT THE DIALOGUE IS EXPOSITION. You don't need to move it in the dialogue.
I said you seemed intelligent, but c'mon. Just because the morons on this site shine you on because of your age doesn't mean you should disregard good advice because you don't like the source.
Some of the best advice I ever got in any endeavor was when someone was harshly critical.
Go to ANYONE whose opinion you respect and who has some experience with writing, be they another writer, teacher, or anything, (as long as they're not on this site) and tell them you have decided to put exposition in the dialogue instead of in the other part of the story (which, like I said, is pretty much all exposition) and see what they tell you.
Anybody who knows what they're doing will tell you exactly what I'm telling you, kid.
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JESUS CHRIST SHUT THE HELL UP!!!!
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-07-25 23:00:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I've been told in the past that I have too much exposition in text, so I put it in dialogue instead.
I have to +2 that comment. Hilarious.
Exposition is exposition, and dialogue is dialogue.
They are two different things. Do you put dialogue in the exposition? No. That would make it dialogue. Unless one character is actually explaining something about which the other character knows nothing, it is generally unnatural sounding to put that shit in the dialogue.
If someone on this site told you you had too much exposition, maybe it was true and maybe it wasn't. Maybe they have ADD. The people on this site don't generally seem to appreciate any lengthy fiction. But if you had too much exposition, and you decide to put it in the dialogue, you're just moving it around.
Expository dialogue is extremely difficult to pull off because it is inherently unnatural.
Sometimes you have to do it, because the reader needs the info, but if you're writing a short story, PRACTICALLY EVERYTHING EXCEPT THE DIALOGUE IS EXPOSITION. You don't need to move it in the dialogue.
I said you seemed intelligent, but c'mon. Just because the morons on this site shine you on because of your age doesn't mean you should disregard good advice because you don't like the source.
Some of the best advice I ever got in any endeavor was when someone was harshly critical.
Go to ANYONE whose opinion you respect and who has some experience with writing, be they another writer, teacher, or anything, (as long as they're not on this site) and tell them you have decided to put exposition in the dialogue instead of in the other part of the story (which, like I said, is pretty much all exposition) and see what they tell you.
Anybody who knows what they're doing will tell you exactly what I'm telling you, kid.
Submitted by shitfuck (user info) at 2006-07-25 22:33:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
So do I.
Submitted by JDL (user info) at 2006-07-25 22:33:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I think you're a talented sonofabitch.
Submitted by Antioxident (user info) at 2006-07-25 22:19:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I fucking hate new jersey
but have a plus one for effort
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-25 21:50:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-07-25 19:23:12 (#)
Ranking: 0
I'm sorry, but your dialogue is very weak.
Too expository. People don't talk like that. Writers write like that when they want to give the reader information.
But in a short story you can have all the exposition you want.
Just keep it out of the dialogue.
Then your stuff would be so much better, because you seem intelligent with a good imagination.
=====================
I've been told in the past that I have too much exposition in text, so I put it in dialogue instead. Considering a) you're an alter, b) your writing skills leave much to be desired and c) no one else agrees with you (see http://www.ubersite.com/m/90517#2061372 ), I tend to utterly disregard your opinion and see you as a rather uninspired troll.
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-07-25 19:23:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I'm sorry, but your dialogue is very weak.
Too expository. People don't talk like that. Writers write like that when they want to give the reader information.
But in a short story you can have all the exposition you want.
Just keep it out of the dialogue.
Then your stuff would be so much better, because you seem intelligent with a good imagination.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-25 18:55:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
THat was fast.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-25 18:55:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-07-25 18:55:02 (#)
Ranking: 2
AWESOME, I will read this tomorrow
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WHOA
You're online
WooOOOO
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-25 18:55:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
It's a nice state. My homeland, my love...
http://www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bergen_County
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-07-25 18:55:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
AWESOME, I will read this tomorrow