A few words from Soooz.

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Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Exciting new contest! Your chance to win a paperback and a swag of goodies.



NEW CONTEST – STAR CHASER: THE TRAVELER

It’s my pleasure to announce that Soooz Says Stuff has partnered with Quicksylver Publications to bring you a contest as part of the worldwide launch of a brand new Sci-Fi/Fantasy series, Beyond the Outer Rim. The prelude, Star Chaser: The Traveler is now available for purchase on Amazon in paperback or on Kindle.

Here’s how it works…

1.  Read the excerpt from the novel included below.
2.  Go to the facebook page for the series (https://www.facebook.com/beyondtheouterrim) to find the contest link and information.
3.  Answer one simple question relating to the excerpt that you read.

And that’s it! Just that simple.

At the close of the contest, THREE winners will be selected from all correct answers and each winner will receive a copy of Star Chaser: The Traveler, signed by the author, and a 'swag bag' of goodies from the exclusive launch party.

Enjoy!

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Excerpt from STAR CHASER: THE TRAVELER

       Dungias was going to be introduced to Gavis Station for the first time… twice, though it took some time for him to get over how Nugar looked.
       “This is nothing,” Nugar said, waving off the interest.
       The first presentation: Nugar allowed Dungias to ride with him as he boarded his fighter-craft and launched from the gunship before it could reach the line of ships awaiting their docking assignments. Nugar was directed to a special place at the station to land his ship. The aged Vinthur quickly explained to his student that it was a place reserved especially for Travelers. Dungias was awestruck at the incredible range of sizes the ships came in. Nugar’s customized fighter was on the smaller end of the comparisons, but it was hardly the smallest.
       “Is that a pressure suit fitted with an engine?” he asked, looking at one of the stalls.
       “Which is why it’s not at a docking slip,” Nugar advised. “Those things are pretty damn unstable. Still… sometimes you try to get as close to the black sea as possible.”
       “Would I be assuming too much if I were to say that tone speaks of past experience?” Dungias asked.
       “Take hold of the stick back there,” Nugar commanded.
“But I-”
       “It’s not the first time you’ve been at the controls of a vehicle,” Nugar snapped. “Now take the stick and trust yourself for a change!” Dungias steadied his breathing as he put his right hand on the control stick and his left on the thruster control. It was a 360o movable handle, parallel to the floor, mounted on a lever that moved forward and back. Any movement from the handle would activate thruster jets. Moving the lever forward would increase forward thrust, and moving it back would activate reverse engines. “Automated landing cycle has been disengaged.” Nugar reported and Dungias could feel the nose pulling down.
       “What is that?!” he quickly asked.
       “I disengaged our automations; the docking system is not mine to command,” Nugar answered as he activated the armour for his fighter-craft. “And the Traveler docking system is notorious for catching many unwary Travelers at the end of long journeys, only to have them crash at the end.”
       “No unnecessary movements,” Dungias whispered as he gently pulled back on the stick and eased the thruster lever forward. His light touch received a quick and ample response from the fighter.
       “Instead of what you fear, tell me, what do you feel?” Nugar asked as he closed his eyes. “When you look beyond the fear, what do you feel?!”
       Just over ten thousand trams from the docking aperture, Dungias calmed himself and tried to sense what his teacher might be talking about.
       “He called it the black sea,” Dungias remembered. “And it is cold… very cold! But there is something else.” Dungias recalled what it was like to go swimming; something he had to plan and schedule in order to keep from encountering ill will. But there were many times when he would swim out to the middle of the pool and just float. “Yes, I see it now. I can feel it!” The thrusters fired, but never at too great a yield, and hardly for too long. The rocking of the ship settled to a slight shimmer and Nugar smiled.
       “Well done, Dungi! Superb, in fact!”
       Dungias piloted the ship to the allotted docking slip and the fighter was quickly secured. Nugar looked at his watch and chuckled.
       “Are you up for a bit of a game?”
       “Lead the way, Teacher!”
       “That’s a good lad!”
       The two of them ran back down the docking slip and Dungias could see Nugar take the stairs up to a catwalk which led to the main entrance for the docking bay … the main spacecraft entrance! He looked hard at his teacher, but the Vinthur’s strides were not shortening, nor were they slowing down. The end of the catwalk was in sight and there was no railing to prevent anyone from falling off the edge.
       “There you go again!” Nugar shouted, almost singing what he was sensing coming from his student.
       “It’s not about what you fear,” Dungias panted. “… it’s about what you feel beyond the fear!” Dungias looked away from the catwalk and put his sights on Nugar. He did not run like a mature man, but a child running toward a favorite toy. Making the final turn, a smile broke across Dungias’ face and he ran faster, beginning to overtake his teacher.
       With very few strides in front of him, Nugar looked to the right. The whooping and hollering of other Travelers reached his ears. Each one of them had a smile on their faces and cheered Nugar on. He waved once at the collective and dove off the end of the catwalk. He was surprised to hear a cry of joy behind him. Looking back, Nugar could see Dungias still climbing from the leap he had taken. Both of their bodies passed through the atmospheric shield.
       “Lean to your right, boy!” Nugar directed, holding out his right arm and throwing all of his bodyweight to his right shoulder. Without the artificial gravity, there was little descent to their flight paths, but even outside the station, there was some pressure, warmth, and breathable air. The cool air blew through his long hair and made his clothes flap around his body.
       Dungias looked around Gavis as he flew. There was so much more to see from his vantage point. It did not look anything like a space station. The horizon reminded him of Threm, but now he was the slide-sled and he flew high and fast. The construct was massive; from the plating and paneling, to the lights and windows, to a couple filled with eager eyes gawking at the two flying forms that were, for some reason, not dying. He was distracted by the cackling of his teacher and he looked down on the man who was nearly glowing as brightly as the smile which shone across his face.
       “Atmospheric curtain,” Nugar called out. “It extends beyond the portals of the station for nearly fifty trams! The trick is staying near a functioning entry port. Release your fear and fly with me, Dungi!”
       “What fear?!” Dungias cried out as he soared ahead of Nugar. Keeping his heading going around the station, Dungias threw his body into a spin with his shoulders rotating clockwise. After three spins he threw out his arms and leveled out before diving straight down. Ten trams, then twenty, thirty fifty, then one hundred and still he flew. He leveled out again and flew along the side of the station, screaming out as he glided around the outside of the station. Dungias performed another spin and Nugar tensed up as it appeared his student was about to hit hard against the side of the station, but he leveled out with his chest parallel with the plating. Dungias allowed his fingertips to drag along the hull before pulling away from the station.
       Look at him!” Nugar thought, actually having to give some effort to keep up with his student. “I won’t have to teach him how to observe the world around him and gain from it. The landing schedules were on two of his consoles. There are at least three ways we can reach our destination. Leave it to my student to take the most precarious route. Yes, because if he is going to be the next Star Chaser, we want him to play it safe!
       “Haa!” Nugar laughed at his own sarcasm and pressed for more speed. Dungias was beginning to pull away, and the danger of the route he had chosen was beginning to look simple for him and potentially treacherous for the Traveler.
       As Dungias dove toward the security port, the large doors were only beginning to open and the fast-moving shuttle was making its way inside. Dungias landed on the nose of the craft and jumped clear of it, employing Pax’Dulah to give himself more lift and speed. Nugar timed his landing on the craft and used the blowback of the turning thruster to push him toward Dungias.
       “Your left hand, Dungi!” Nugar called out and while laughing, Dungias jumped away from the station and held out his left hand that slapped against the forearm of Nugar’s extended right hand. “Now pull against me!” While the direction of their flight path did not change, the two spun around each other with their arms serving as the axle of this most impromptu wheel. Dungias looked up at the stars; his view, for the first time, unhindered by glass or iro-form. The majesty of them took hold of his mind and soul. As he gazed at them, it felt as if he could hear them singing.
       “But what would a Star sing?” he thought.
       “Get ready,” Nugar directed, bringing Dungias back to the moment. “And keep pulling!” They both screamed like children as the speed of their rotations increased. “Release!” Nugar commanded and Dungias was slung forward to the next public entryway while Nugar was sent toward the plating of Gavis.
       “It can’t be!” Dungias exclaimed, knowing that what he saw was indeed quite accurate and very true. H’Dalvi’s gunship, which seemed so much larger from the outside than it had appeared during the many walks he had taken along its corridors, was making its entry into the station. Dungias smiled as he careened toward the large spacecraft, and he landed on the foredeck just in front of the bridge window. He squatted down and waved at Commander H’Dalvi and his bridge crew.

       “Well, it’s been a few dockings since I’ve seen that,” Narwyss said with a smile as he recovered from the surprise. His voice helped the rest of the crew return to their duties more quickly.
       “I agree,” Turo added. “And the last time either of us saw it, I believe it was a Vinthur.” The Sub-Officer folded his arms across his expansive chest and smiled. “That was a fine wager you made.”
       “I took it as solid advice from a trusted resource,” Narwyss replied. “And speaking of good wagers, tell the crew that we are going to have a celebratory meal at ShoSoro’s. Anyone pulling guard duty gets two plates brought to them.”
       “That will be quite costly,” Turo pointed out.
       “It is already paid for, and there’s a few credits remaining for me to spoil my officers,” Narwyss said as Nugar landed beside Dungias. “Oh look! They come in pairs! Helm, make this as bumpy of a landing as you can manage.” There was laughter on the bridge as the Commander took his leave.

Wednesday, October 8, 2014

I believe strongly in Freedom of Expression. Should there be a line that never gets crossed? Share your views.


 I will never condone Censorship In Literature. That is a stance I took before I wrote my own books. Whether Non-fiction, or Fiction. Targeted or not. The freedom I have come to hold precious had to be by extension carried over to my life online and in the real world. I would not write the words of my own pain, and expect others to censor theirs.

Views of course will differ, strongly. I invite you all to share your insights. They will be published uncensored here.

We are all members of a profession that by it's very existence has the power to touch a great many people, and in some instances it assists those people in learning about  genres and topics that otherwise may have remained forever outside their realm of experience. Because they have the option to choose what they read!

 Should they be denied that opportunity to choose? What signals are we sending to the next generation of writers ... and readers? If they are only able to  access sanitized choices are we not denying them the freedom to explore new realms of expression.


I would be less than honest if I said that I wasn’t nervous about posting this. I have dealt with some pretty strange people since I first published “Empty Chairs”my biography.

People  called me names that don’t need repeating, men wrote to me on quite a few occasions and said I probably deserved to be raped at age 5. It was dirty and painful. The haters really knew how to hit the vulnerable spots. But I accepted that the book and the topics it dealt with would inevitably attract those people out there that somehow get “Off’ on other people’s pain.

My stance against incest, rape and pedophilia is well documented. Would I go so far as to suggest the Banning of books containing such things...NO. I would not!

I fought long and hard for my freedom in a world that wanted to shove me down and make me disappear. I fought for my right to be heard. I fought for my right to exist.

I will never condone Censorship In Literature. That is a stance I took before I wrote my own books. Whether Non-fiction, or Fiction. Targeted or not. The freedom I have come to hold precious had to be by extension carried over to my life online and in the real world. I would not write the words of my own pain, and expect others to censor theirs.

“Oh”, you may say...”but Soooz...yours was NON fiction!”
  
Yes it was...so what?

Did that make it less titillating to be read, by those that were only looking to be titillated?

No.

Let’s not kid ourselves here people, if a reader is searching for a way to get off on what he/she is reading the fact that is has labels all over it, of the “Adult content only” variety won’t make a damned bit of difference. 

The labels simply take them where they need to be more quickly... Those that seek out those places for that purpose will always find them.


BUT...should someone be permitted to decide what can and can not be read?...Should they have the ability to be the invisible conscience for all things deemed sweet and light; all things good and noble?

Should they then have the power to force us to accept their decision by removing books that THEY deem unsuitable for human consumption?

NO!

How dare they?

Most people don’t lead a Mary Poppins existence, for those that do this question would surely never be raised; for their worlds would be so shut off from reality that the very thought of something needing to be censored would not in all probability cross their minds.

They would probably never read a post like this. To those that do, and are shocked and horrified that such books exist in their world..I say it is your right to be shocked, it is your right to be scandalized.

It is your right NOT to purchase the book.

We fight wars to allow others Freedom of Religion, for Freedom of Choice, Freedom of Expression...

Freedom to be permitted to live our lives without impeding the same FREEDOM to others.

Freedom to not have our reading matter decided and selected for us by anybody else.

What do you think?

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

The Stranger in My Mirror Story #3 'Homecoming'




Welcome to this space. As the title says, I have created 'The Stranger In My Mirror' posts to share with you works of fiction and occasionally real life observations from the other side of Soooz. We all have a face that we hide from ourselves, I decided to acknowledge the existence of mine, and see where it takes me.

 Some of the stuff will be dark, some humorous and many ... quirky . Yeah, quirky ...  I have decided I rather like that word.

Thanks for stopping by to take a look. Whether you like or dislike what you find, please leave a comment. I do appreciate your time.

So here we go with Story Number 2. Color Me Empty.
- See more at: http://sooozsaysstuff.blogspot.com.au/2014/09/the-stranger-in-my-mirror-2-color-me.html#sthash.XHHNckKY.dpuf

Welcome to this space. As the title says, I have created 'The Stranger In My Mirror' posts to share with you works of fiction and occasionally real life observations from the other side of Soooz. We all have a face that we hide from ourselves, I decided to acknowledge the existence of mine, and see where it takes me.

 Some of the stuff will be dark, some humorous and many ... quirky . Yeah, quirky ...  I have decided I rather like that word.

Thanks for stopping by to take a look. Whether you like or dislike what you find, please leave a comment. I do appreciate your time.

So here we go with Story Number 2. Color Me Empty.
- See more at: http://sooozsaysstuff.blogspot.com.au/2014/09/the-stranger-in-my-mirror-2-color-me.html#sthash.XHHNckKY.dpuf



I have always been one of those people that should never be around bleeping car alarms, or crying babies.  There is just something about the urgency of those sounds that creates a twitch in my brain and a frown on my face.

The restaurant was crowded.  The food was good.  My date was not, he had pulled the old left my wallet at home number on me again, and I was pissed as hell about it.

He left.  I stayed.  The phone rang.  The booth was just off to my right.  It rang and rang and my twitch and frown deepened.  I got up and walked over and into a nightmare.

“Yes” I said.

“There’s one born every minute.”  It was a male voice flat and cold.  It continued, “Well now, I expected a woman to pick up. I figured it would be a woman, women always stick their noses in where they’re not wanted.”

“Fuck you, whoever you are.”  I said about to slam the phone down.

“NO!  Not a smart thing to do, lady.”  The voice screamed.

“I’ll play.  Why not?”

“Because, you stupid bitch, you activated the timing device on a bomb when you picked up the phone.”

I remained silent.  The words unscrambling themselves in my alcohol-infused brain.  “Bull shit, creep.  Ha, ha! I’m not buying it.”

“Too bad. That pretty blue dress is gonna get all covered with blood and brains. Such a pity.”

My brain kicked into overdrive.  This bastard could see me.  He was watching me.  I looked around me fast, trying to see who it might be.  Whoever it was, they had to be on a cell phone.

“Well,” he said, what do you think?  Which one of us is it?  Huh?  C’mon, bitch, figure it out; which one of us are you talkin’ to.  Which one is gonna blow you and all these other assholes to hell?  Talk to me, bitch.  Don’t make me push my little button too soon.  Where would the fun be in that?  I like to have fun.”

I couldn’t afford not to play the sicko’s game.  If this was a game.

“What do you want?”

“Ah, see now, that’s better.  Play nice.  It can be fun; you just have to find a way.  Can you find a way?”

Sweet Jesus, what the hell do I do?  What if it’s real?  What if there is a bomb?  “What do you want?  Please, tell me what you want?”

“Oh, you disappoint me, you already asked me that.  Shouldn’t disappoint me, I don’t like it when women disappoint me.”

I swallowed the bile that came up in my throat, I had to think, think. My stupid brain wouldn’t respond.  What could I say?

“Um—my name, is Alexis.”

“So?”

“So, what’s your name?”

“Boring and stupid.  Is that all you can come up with?  My name is Alexis.  I can tell you my name, but I won’t.  How ‘bout you guess my name.  Yes, that will keep me amused, for a while.  Alexis has to guess my name.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Wrong!’

“Please, why are you doing this?”

“Wrong!”

My knees were shaking and the nausea was threatening to overwhelm me. Why didn’t anyone come near?  Why couldn’t they see?  I looked frantically around again trying to make eye contact with someone, anyone.  Please, please why can’t you see?

“Um … Robert.” I said, trying to keep my voice from breaking.

“Do I sound like a Robert?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t know.  Can you give me a hint?  Please.  Will this stop if I guess your name?  Why would you do this, do I know you?”

“Oh—poor little bitch.  Poor little bitch in a blue dress.  Poor bitch wants a hint.  Will I give you a hint? Lemme think ‘bout it.”

What can I do?  Think ... dammit ... think.  Keep him talking, keep him talking.  This place has to close.  Someone will get suspicious; surely, someone will wonder why I’m on the phone so long.  Keep him talking.


“If not, Robert.  Then give me a hint.  Play fair.  Or don’t you know how?”

“Wrong answer.  Nice try.  But gettin’ me mad ain’t a good idea.”

“Then give me a hint, please.”

“Say sorry.”

“I ... I’m sorry, please.  Don’t do this.”

“Pleadin’ won’t help.  What is my name?”

“Frank.”

“Wrong answer.”

I could feel the tears running down my face and turned around so people could see them.  Dear God, please someone look at me.  Can’t you see?  That woman, that woman in the leather jacket she is looking at me.  I nodded my head at her.  Yes, yes.  Please come see.  Please. No! Don’t give me me an embarrassed smile and turn away.  No, no no.

“What is my name, little bitch in blue?”

“I don’t know … I don’t know! Please why, why are you doing this?  Why?”

“It’s time.”

“Ti … time … no ... no …! Time for what?”  I screamed into the phone, a couple of people looked up, and looked away again quickly.

“Time for all the people to pay, Alexis in the blue dress.”

“Pay for what?  What did they do to you?”

“Too late—too late, it’s done.  Nobody cared, Alexis in the blue dress.”

“I—I care!”

“Of course you do … you are going to die.  Everyone cares when they are about to die.”

"Then … why don’t you tell all these people, why they must die?  Punish them like you are punishing me.”

“Tell all the people?”

“Yes, yes.  Tell all the people. You want them to be afraid, don't you?  You want them to suffer with that fear like I am before they die. Don't you?"

“Make them afraid.  All of them?  Yes … NO!  What is my name?”

“Look, look around you.  More people are leaving.  They never got to care what happened to you.  They never got to be afraid.”

I said a silent prayer that he didn’t just push the damned button.  My instincts told me it was suddenly more important to confuse him. He appeared to be rattled just a little.

“What did they do to you to make you hate them?”

“I don’t hate.  I don’t feel anything.  They have to pay.”

“Because ... because you don’t feel anything?”

“Yes—Alexis in the blue dress.  Because I don’t feel anything.  They did that.”


“Who is they?”

“People.  Just people?”

“But why me? Why these people in particular?  What did I do to you?  What did the woman and that little girl in pink do to you?"

“Wrong—no more questions.  Just answers, get it?  What is my name.”

His voice was becoming agitated.  No longer cold and flat, it was raised in protest at my questions.

“George, is it ... George?”

“No.  This is boring.”

“You will die too, won’t you?  You are here in this restaurant, watching every little move I make. So, you will die too.”

“Yes—of course.  No matter, I feel nothing.”

“You don’t feel pain?”

“I feel nothing.  No more questions.  I’ll give you a hint.”

“What if I don’t get it right?”

“Get it right.  Alexis in the blue dress.  Do you like music?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

“Do you know music?”

I thought hard before I answered.  “No—not very well.  I just like music, that’s all.  If you give me a hint, and I get it right what will you do? What will you do?”  I repeated.

“I’ll stop.”

“You’ll stop the bomb from detonating?”

“Yes.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“What choice do you have, Alexis in the blue dress?”  He laughed.

The terror I had been feeling was gone.  I had accepted what he was saying.  I was going to die.  These people were going to die.
More couples left the restaurant.  The woman in the leather jacket looked at me again, I mouthed the word…  Help.  Again, Help.  I couldn’t risk signaling her in any other way.  He was in here.  Watching me.  Watching everything, I did.

She looked at me oddly.  Then she picked up her purse and she and her male companion left the restaurant. She gave me a brief backward glance as then disappeared from sight around the screen near the entry door.

I could barely breathe.

I had wet myself and all I could do was stand there in silent, unobserved, humiliation. Was this how my life would end?  I hated knowing that it was.

The restaurant was emptying, faster now.  It was getting late.  Time was running out.  The waiters were going around to the occupied tables and soon after a few of the customers here and there got up and made their way slowly outside.

That was good, I was relieved it might end up with just me and some staff perhaps.  The woman and the little girl got up to go.

“What are you doing?”  His voice was querulous, agitated, different.

“Nothing—you can see me!  What does it look like I’m doing?  Nothing—right.  Just waiting for the hint.”

I looked around, again.  Damn, who was it; there weren’t many of us left.  Five males, four females and the staff.  Was it one of the staff?  What good would knowing do me?

“So—come on—what is the hint?”

“I’m thinking!”  He raised his voice angrily this time.  I had rattled him.  I don’t know how.

“C’mon, c’mon.  If I’m going to guess your name, I need a hint.”

“Wait!  Are you in a big hurry to die? Alexis in the blue dress.  How old are you?”

“Why does that matter?”  I have to stall him now.  The longer I can keep him occupied the more people would get out.

“I asked how old you are?” he was angry.

“And I asked you why that’s important."
"Tell me!” he screamed.

“I don’t think I will.  You have to give me the hint.  You said you would, now you will not.  If you are a liar, why would I believe you about the bomb?  I think I’ll just walk out of here.  You have had your sick fun.”

“Tell me your age and I will give you a hint.”

“How old do I look?”

“Stop it!  You must answer the questions.  Don’t ask them.”

I looked around; several of the waiters appeared to be going off duty.  Why had no one questioned me still being on the phone?
I saw him!  It had to be him, or one of the staff. 
No! It had to be him.  He sat at the back of the restaurant, alone.  That’s why he couldn’t guess my age.  He was too far away to be sure, or even close.  But, was the bomb on him, or planted?  I couldn’t let him know that I had figured out who he was.  I must not.

“I’m thirty.”  I lied.

“That’s better.  That’s young.”

“How old are you?”


“As old as time.”  He sounded weary, fed up.

“What is my hint?”  I pushed it.

“Purple Haze.”

“What?”

“Purple Haze.”

I watched another couple of people that could only have come from the kitchen walk out the front door. One of them still wearing the white cap of a kitchen hand. There was none of the laughter and good-natured ribbing you would expect to hear from people finishing work and heading elsewhere.

I realized then that they knew.  Someone had tipped them off.  Maybe the woman in the leather jacket.  The lights were all still blazing.


“I said, Purple Haze.  Alexis in the blue dress.”


He was so focused on me I don’t think he had noticed that hardly anyone remained in the restaurant.  I turned around and looked in his direction.  I couldn’t make out detail.  He was in clear line of sight from me.  Sitting behind the table.  His hair was grey and long.

“Answer me.”  He screamed again.  “What is my name?”

“Jimi, it must be Jimi.” I almost screamed the name.

“How? How ... did you ...?"

I put the phone down on the bench.  I wanted to run like hell.  But I forced myself not to. 
I walked outside, slow and calm, straight into the arms of the bomb squad member ushering the occupants outside.


Everyone but Jimi was out.  I sobbed in the arms of the big guy in the full kefla suit.  I threw up, and then had to sit; I was grabbed by two more big cops and carried to the barricades down the block a piece.

Jimi exited the restaurant.  There were cops and bomb squad people everywhere.

Jimi was in a wheelchair.

“I feel nothing,” he had said.  “Oh God, I screamed he’s gonna do it … no, please he’s gonna do it.”

The blast knocked a few cops off their feet.

I remember crying out, "NO!" and then I passed out cold.

I awoke in hospital.  Still groggy from the tranquilizers.  The woman that had called the cops was sitting beside the bed.  So was my ex-husband.

“I … who was he?”

“Later, Alexis,” said my ex. “Rest up okay.  Just rest.”

“No dammit—no! I need to know?”

“His name was James Fredericks.”  The woman said, flashing her badge as she spoke.  “You are one brave woman.  How did you know to lie about your age?”

“You’re a cop?”

“Yes, off duty last night, but as soon as I realized there was a problem we put a tracer on the phone line and listened in.  Then started very slowly getting people to leave the restaurant, just one, or two at a time.”

“How did you know the answer?" she asked.  "I mean it was an ambiguous hint, Purple Haze.  What is that?”

“Jimi Hendrix.  I’m a child of the sixties.  As soon as he asked me about music, and my age, I figured he was gonna try and make it something I wouldn’t know. I love music.  And Purple Haze was a favorite."

"He was a Nam Vet wasn’t he?" I continued.

“Yes.”

“Not all of them came home."  I whispered sadly.


I cried for Jimi.