"Jonny Bails Floatin" My new novel, now available!

mikalina wrote:

I just ordered your book today thru Amazon. I should get it in about 5 to 7 working days... :thumbup:

Thanks mikalina! I hope you enjoy it!

Mamasan23 wrote:

Wait a minute, there's sex parts? Ordering now!

Well, its no 50 shades. In fact, I keep hearing that the sex parts are obviously written by a man. So maybe dont get your hopes up too much.. but I think the sex scene in the hotel bathroom up on the bathroom sink was done in a perfectly dirty fashion.

rick1zoo2 wrote:

haha...dang, I can have it on kindle in a few minutes

Rick, there's still no pictures, sorry. :P

chadwick wrote:

JonnyPistachio wrote:

chadwick wrote:

pm me your mailing address & total price including tax & postage. i send cash & get signed copy. thank you

Hey Chadwick, can I send it to the same PO box you gave me in March? I'm going to the post office tomorrow to send a copy to Brian Lux, I can send one to you too. I'll let you know the postage afterwards.

well played, mr. organizational skills & memory bank championship
add my bill to the package

Keep an eye out chadwick. I put it in the mail last friday.

mikalina wrote:

Ok, your book arrived - should start reading this weekend....

:thumbup:

Black Diamond wrote:

Finished in 24 hours...

Glad I had just been in the Keys in May so it resonated well..
Really enjoyed... A great beach read... and a terrific first effort by Mr. Pistachio..
I look forward to the next one..

Thank you!!
I just heard back from a few contacts in the Keys. A few stores down there might carry the book.

Ms. Haiku wrote:

Congratulations, JonnyPistachio!

Thanks Ms. Haiku!

The opening chapter:

Chapter 1 – Sleep it Off
12:07 am April 1, 2012

I was drunk again. Booker was physically carrying me because I had too much rum. And by too much, I mean that it wasn’t my fault. Most of those drinks were bought for me, and I simply cannot turn down free drinks.

It was a Friday night and Duval Street was bustling after all. It was the Bourbon Street of Key West, Florida.

Although I was mostly passed out drunk, I remember the feeling of the contrasting air around me. It was hot and humid, but there was a steady breeze. Sometimes, you could smell and breathe the salt from the sea, even as far inland as Duval Street, a few blocks from the ocean.

Key West was a mystery to me when it came to weather, but I didn’t care, I always thought sweating was good for you -- cleans your pores and gets the demons out. I was always sweating. I could benefit from losing eleven or so pounds, I guess.

Booker, on the other hand, was one of those weird folks who simply didn’t sweat. Maybe it was because he was raised in the Keys or maybe he just didn’t have any demons.

Ahh, Booker. My old friend. He just went by “Booker.” Nobody really knew much about him other than he lived in Key West seemingly his whole life. He knew everyone and the history of everything local. He was a large man with short cropped dark hair, tanned and rugged looking from all his work on boats and in the outdoors. He was much older than me, maybe 50 or so. His hands were like sandpaper and he limped like an old dog. I was 6 foot two inches tall, so he struggled to carry me ‘bride style’ into the small motel we knew so well on Duval Street. Although Booker was strong as an ox, I was tall, so I was cumbersome.

Despite the raucous, touristy mayhem of Duval Street, Booker made his way into a small motel called the Pink Flamingo, off a side street where he was owed a favor. This motel was old, the halls narrow, and the rooms a bit musky. It was a party destination after all. Booker stood at the check-in counter with me in his arms for a moment before the pretty Danish woman came out from a back room behind the counter. He winked at her, expecting the free room. We had been through this before.

She rolled her eyes and said with a slight Danish accent, “Again Booker? Room 101, its open…”

“Sweetheart, he’s a performer. They throw shots and drinks at him all night long,” Booker explained as he readjusted his grip on me. He gave me a large boost up over his shoulder and I moaned as his muscular shoulder dug into my belly. I tried to sing the first song that came to mind, but couldn’t put two words together.

There was awkward silence, aside from my drunken murmuring, humming and singing.

“Let me guess, Teach your Children, by Crosby Stills, Nash, and Young?” She asked.

Before she finished asking, I let out a louder, nearly incoherent blurb. Booker recognized she was correct, that I was trying to sing the song “Teach Your Children,” so he sang along loudly. He proceeded towards the back door that led to the alley, where the dismal room 101 was located. We frequented this motel because they couldn’t rent out room 101 by the alley due to the fact that it had been flooded recently and smelled like a wet dog. Ok, it simply smelled more like a wet dog than the other rooms.

Before I passed out completely, I slightly remembered a flashback to when I first carried my drunken mother into the trailer and I was humming the same song; Ironic that I was drunk and on the other end now.

Booker dropped me in the cheap, worn out bed, carted my bicycle rig into the tiny room, slapped my face a bit to see if I was breathing, then headed back to the bar.

Seconds before I passed out for the night, I recall looking up at the old dusty ceiling fan, as it wobbled dangerously and made a horrific squeaking sound. The bright light from the center of the fan hurt my eyes, but I was too drunk and tired to get up to turn it off. I wished I had something I could throw at the bulb, to smash it, making the glass rain down on me so I could sleep in sweat, glass, and motel filth. That way, I would be forced to get up and leave as soon as I was able.

Then music came into my head like a racehorse. What would I do without music? The sounds of the music I loved transported me to another place entirely. I held my hand up to block the light, and the last thing I saw was pinprick sized, subtle blue lights covering my fingers. I saw this once before…