Good
morning, Nash, please tell me you’re a morning person ort this conversation is
about to get off to a really rough start.
Naa,
it’s all good, I don’t mind mornings as much as some people I know. *snickers*
Yeah,
I’ve already gotten an earful and a half from him about starting the interview
so early and not telling him the moment he arrived that there was coffee ready.
It’s
okay, he kind of needs to cut down on caffeine anyway. His blood pressure is
high enough.
You
should try slipping him some decaf. Just pour out most of the coffee grinds in
the can and replace them with decaf, give the can a good shake to mix them all
together and slowly wean him off the high octane stuff that way.
And
when he figures it out, and you know he will, who’s going to keep him from
burying me under the shop.
Well,
when you put it that way, perhaps it isn’t the best way to ensure one’s personal
safety.
Exactly.
So, why are you dragging us all back out, anyway? Stories over, fade to black
and all that dramatic shit. Notebook neatly tucked away in a box with the
others and our storyboard taken down. You didn’t decide to write a sequel, did
you?
And
if I did?
Makes
no difference to me, I’ll come out and play whenever, but um, wanna do me a
favor this time?
Depends.
Okay,
well, if there is any more scary shit to be found, wanna let someone else find
it?
I’ll
think about, now can you stop sidetracking the interview and let me actually
ask a question?
You
still haven’t told me why you dragged us all back out here to play.
I
thought it would be fun to talk to you each one on one and introduce you to the
public, ya snarky brat.
Oh,
well, in that case, hello reader-verse, I’m Nash, the character Layla took
great pleasure in tormenting through a large chunk of Dust Trail Blues.
To
be fair, you did sort of bring a lot of it on yourself.
Hey,
isn’t this breaking the fourth wall?
No,
it’s blowing it up, now can we get on with it?
Okay,
okay, sheesh, ask what you’re going to ask so we can get this over with, I
haven’t even had breakfast yet.
Don’t
you start too, or I swear, not only will I write a sequel, but I will set it
during a record heatwave and make sure the air conditioner in the shop dies
three pages in.
Are
you seriously trying to kill me?
At
the moment, no, but it can be arranged if you keep on pushing your luck.
Fine,
I’ll behave, alright, see this is me behaving, ask me anything you’d like.
Okay,
have you been keeping a journal of your overheating incidents like Luke asked
or did it go in one ear and out the other again?
Okay,
anything but that.
Uh-huh,
pretty sure you can expect a phone call from him the moment this goes live.
Gee,
thanks.
Well,
learn to listen and you wouldn’t have these issues.
Question…please.
Okay,
were you seriously contemplating heading up to Alaska, or was that all just the
melodrama and woe is me mess kicking in?
I
still want to see Alaska. Maybe it’ll be a vacation trip or something. I just
think it would be nice to be able to spend time outdoors without having to
limit myself to particular hours or weather conditions, you know. And yeah, if
things hadn’t worked out the way they had, then maybe. Or at least Maine. I
hear it’s beautiful up there too, and mercifully cold a good chunk of the year.
What’s
the coldest place you’ve lived since leaving Virginia?
Pennsylvania
and Ohio. Holy crap it was awesome up there in the winter. Snow, ice, I could
go hiking or wander down a trail for three out of the four seasons.
So
why leave?
Cost
of living, mostly, I moved out of two different places in the same year because
the landlords there raised the rent.
You
know the secret to getting around that, right?
Yeah,
yeah, my Gram has said the same things about a billion times. Get a better job,
one where I can put my talents to good use and get paid top dollar for the
things I create.
Exactly.
There’s
more to life than money you know.
An
argument that’s difficult to make when you’re strapping your stuff to the back
of your Triumph in late November so you can move it into your new apartment
before the snowstorm hits.
Good
point. Moving on now.
Okay,
tell me about the goats.
What
about them?
Do
you get along with them better now or are you still worried about one of them
launching you into the next county?
The
goats and I have reached a tentative truce. I give them a wide berth and
refrain from discussing the ingredients in Mediterranean Goat Casserole in
their presence and they grant me safe passage through the salvage yard.
Uh-huh,
so, if you give them such a wide berth, why were you brushing goat feed dust
off your jeans when you first came in? Admit it, they’ve grown on you.
Nope.
I’m
pretty sure those are brown, tan and black goat hairs clinging to your t-shirt right now.
Okay,
so the kids are cute. But once they get their horns, forget it. I’ve got no
interest in being turned into shish-kabobs by one of the ornery things.
Well
I see one thing hasn’t changed.
Yeah,
and what’s that?
You’re
unwillingness to admit you were wrong about something. The goats are awesome,
aren’t they? Come on, you can say it, the goats are awesome, which was why you
were rolling a soccer ball to some of them early this morning when you went out
to help Justice with their feed. And I could swear I saw you sitting in the shade
of a magnolia just last night, one of the new kids sleeping across you where
you were doodling away in that sketchbook of yours.
Okay,
okay, you win! The goats are adorable. Even the ones with massive horns. There.
I said it. Happy now.
Very.
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