By Craig Lancaster
Edward Stanton is a guy hurtling headlong towards heart age. His psychological affliction has led him to be sequestered in his small condo in a small urban, the place he retains his distance from the skin global and the oldsters from whom he's principally estranged. For the main half, Edward sticks to objects he can count number on...and issues he can count number. yet over the process 25 days (or six hundred hours, as Edward prefers to examine it) numerous occasions puncture the partitions Edward has equipped round himself. in spite of everything, he faces a call: Open his existence to adventure and take care of the thrill and heartaches that include it, or stay in the back of his closed door, a solitary soul
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Extra resources for 600 Hours of Edward
With blue eyes that were troubled but clean and clear. On either side of that face, shoulders seemed to extend forever. From the shoulders, arms hung down thick and heavy as beef. I nodded as he set me aright. The giant boy smiled shyly. “Thanks,” I said, and I kneed him in the balls. He bent forward. I reared back and hit him in the face with the longest roundhouse I could throw. The force of the blow brought me spinning to the floor again. The giant, on the other hand, swayed back and forth for a long moment before he went down.
I shook my head to make it all stop. A barbell rolled across the floor of my brain. Now, the shape crouched down in front of me. He really was huge. His head alone filled up my blurring vision. It was a round head with shaggy blond hair framing the face of it. “God forgive me,” he said in a soft, deep voice. ” He wrapped an enormous hand around my entire upper arm. He hoisted me to my feet. I was beginning to see more clearly. I could see he was a young man, maybe in his early twenties. Round-cheeked like a kid, with a sweet, open expression.
He does this on the side. He’s an entrepreneur,” Gottlieb said. ” “So what. ” “The girl, a gun, a clue, a tip. We’ll take an anonymous tip. Anything. Now,” he said. He focused those oddly gentle little eyes on me. “I played. ” “Oh, God, don’t, it’s so bad for you. Eesh. Cancer. It’s a disaster. You don’t want to know about it. Anyway, this is a crime scene. ” I lit a cigarette. It tasted sharp in the heat. I took a long drag all the same. “Use the ashtray on the counter,” Gottlieb said. ” He kept watching me.
600 Hours of Edward by Craig Lancaster