Howdy,
Continuing to edit (and add to, write inside) the Jake Jones story. From chapter four, here’s what’s “new” with the novella:
“Young and active and ready to play, preferring to “work” on his game than go to work, Jake sought to stay far from the shop and the jobs that cropped up and did not stop. Naturally as wildlife flees when spooked, Jake thought park and court and away from rolling and stacking changed-out tires. Dad and Gramps, always greased up but slow-moving, Jake didn’t see it. The youngest Jones “little man” thought of something greased as slippery quick, like a freshly waxed snowboard on a steep hill. But that wasn’t his pops or grandpa. Slippery quick, no sir. Neither one of ‘em. Just greased. And it wasn’t just being old; they were strong — Jake admired their strength — but not fast. They didn’t speed home or get there early. Ever. Greased and engrossed.
… In the levity of freestyle play, Jake juked trees, bounced boomerang passes to himself off “twanging” light posts and walls receiving their own honorary dimpled streaks, pushed his orange ball hard off smooth sidewalk concrete and high into the air to slide sideways under — a move from TV, a commercial, with the mix-in of lyrics “SLIDE TO THE RIGHT” accompanying in his head — and take its arched return with his opposite hand and with flair. It was a dance he did. Jake and his orange, inflated b-ball.”
—Billy
Reading. Wrediting. Living.