Prologue

“I travelled through a land of men,
A land of men and women too,
And heard and saw such dreadful things
As cold earth wanderers never knew.”
William Blake

My name is Vincenzo Cassiel Michelangelo Il-Cazzo. Vinnie. I am an urban pirate and an addict in recovery. At present I’m sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch of an old reconverted hotel. The hotel was purchased in foreclosure and used as the centerpiece of an intentional community in Washington. State not DC. On my right, at an angle, seated in a matching chair, is a middle aged man with a smoldering Don Carlos Belicoso jutting from his mouth. His name is Doc and he is dressed in chestnut colored Burberrys, grey socks, light grey slacks, a maroon short-sleeved shirt with a grey checkered bow-tie, a grey vest and a chestnut colored fedora. I appear understated in my ripped Wranglers, dark green t-shirt and beat up hiking boots with broken laces knotted together. I feel like my clothes, worn out and shabby. Sitting here I am looking across fifteen acres of partially cleared land. There are some trailers, most of them down at heel, a wooded area surrounding clusters of small, pre-fabricated log dwellings, a giant cabin on a grassy hill that is so far back it looks tiny, a large dining hall made of steel reinforced concrete and brick (I’m informed that it also serves as a storm shelter) and a swimming pond. In deference to the blazing heat of summer, this July eighth afternoon, even this far north and west, the swim attire ranges from full swimsuits to birthday suits. Some of those swimming make me appreciate the lack of clothing. I’m hoping to make this place my home. I need some permanence.
Doc and his partners built this community as a means of helping people in need. Or so I was informed at a court hearing. I am in need, but not entirely certain that I will be welcome here. My history is sordid and my record far from exemplary.
Another middle aged man, name of Billy, has just come out the door of the dining hall with a tray. Dressed in well polished, black leather, engineer boots, black Cucinelli jeans, a black, sleeveless undershirt, and a dark blue bandana, rolled and tied around his shoulder length salt and pepper hair, he approaches the porch steps, pauses to get his footing and climbs all five. Doc has already maneuvered a small table from between two of the rocking chairs so that it sits just in front of all three.
The tray Billy sets down is loaded with sandwiches, coleslaw, pretzels, and a giant pitcher of iced coffee. He bows his head after sitting in the third rocking chair. I look over uncertain, and then close my eyes. Doc removes his cigar.
“Lord,” Doc intones solemnly, “bless this food and the hands that made it. Bless the
residents of our land. Those leaving and those arriving. May they find a better life than the one they knew and be dealt better cards. May those leaving soon return. May those arriving find the nurture and comfort we have come to know. May those choosing to reside on the edges of our land find bounty in their lives. And may we never forget to be grateful for this place of last resort. Please grant us wisdom in assisting our new friend, Vinnie. Amen.”
“Amen.” Billy nods. “Some hot day, huh?”
“Hellish.” Doc serves me and himself from the tray. Billy takes his share.
“So, Vinnie.” Billy takes a bite of food. “I am hoping you slept well and found the
accommodations suitable. Not to be overly blunt, but let’s dispense with the small talk. You were in jail recently and after being released you showed up here with a letter from Jeremiah Ezelkut. You spent the night, ate a man sized breakfast and toured our property. Now, we need to know your story.” Billy has a smooth voice but with a sharp edge to it.
I shrug and look off into the distance. “Sure. This might take a while, but if you want to know about me, sure. I have nothing to hide. Not anymore." I gave Billy defeated and deflated. "I was in jail, yes sir. I ended up there through my own stupidity. I also ended up there because I was born and bred to end up there. I should have been there many times over throughout my life. I spent my time in stir quietly and met some tuned in men who visited and encouraged me to consider not drinking or using drugs. I attended some meetings that the jail allows to occur. For the time being I am clean and sober. Thirty days so far. Because of my willingness to attend meetings I was released with a fine and time served. Judge Ezelkut suggested I come here. He says you two help people like me. In return for service and labor. I need help. I will gladly work in return.”
Doc smiles and applauds briefly and slowly. “Congratulations on the thirty days. We have read such online records as we could pull on you. But they are inconclusive. Apparently you have no official criminal record prior to your arrest. And with regards to your arrest you clearly have no issues with fighting. But words on paper don’t explain a person very well. So please, we have all the time in the world, start at the beginning and fill us in. We have heard it all around here. If we can help you, then yes, yes that is precisely what we do.”
So I start.

Author's Note

This is a very very rough draft.

Reviews

[Delmar Cooper]

As prologues go, I usually skip them. Glad I didn't skip this one. Same for long passages of description. I thumb through books looking for the white space that advertises dialogue. A real dialogue pig here. Again, I would have missed a lot if my eyes had glazed over at the threat of that big chunk of black ink. You're messing with my prejudices here Mac. Thanks.

[Mac]

Glad you enjoyed it. I am pondering combining the prologue and the intro.

[Delmar Cooper]

Haven't read it yet. I'll get back to you.