On the morning of Thanksgiving 1941, I had a lot to be thankful. My name is Robert Lee Peters. I hailed from a poor family in South Carolina. There were two boys. I was the youngest. I knew from a very young age that the only thing that would raise me up from this poverty was education. I attended a one-room schoolhouse and was fortunate to have a teacher who took an interest in me. My ability to comprehend everything taught to me amazed Miss Wright (my teacher), and I became a special project for her to see succeed.

   The one-room classroom only educated children to the 8th grade. When it was time to go to high school many of the children discontinued their educations. They went to the farms to help their families eke out a living. Miss Wright spoke with my parents. She pleaded with them to support me while I attended high school. She told them that someday at the end of my studies, I would return to the family farm and help them in more ways than they could ever imagine. I finished high school in three years.

   Mr. Bradley my high school counselor wrote a letter of introduction to a previous classmate of his at the University of South Carolina. He made arrangements for me to take a scholarship examination.  The rest was history. A month after the exam, I received a letter from the university offering me a four-year scholarship that included room, board, and a stipend. I was going to college.

   At the beginning of my first year at the university, I was required to take as one of my studies Army OCS or Officers Candidate School. One of the up-sides for taking this military training was to receive the monthly salary that it offered the participants. I knew that when I graduated, I would have to serve four years as an officer in the United States Army.

   Every summer for the first two weeks of my vacation, I would be training at a military base and learning all its fundamentals. I would spend the remainder of the summer months helping my family on the farm. And then at the end of the summer, it was back to Columbia and my studies.

   I remember the 20th of November 1941 as if it were yesterday. My roommate, John Major came bursting into the room to begin packing to go home for the Thanksgiving holiday. As he was putting some clothing into a suitcase, he inquired about my plans.

   “I intend to spend Thanksgiving here. I was told that they are serving Turkey for the students who will be remaining on campus.”

   He stopped packing his suitcase and turned toward me. “Why don’t you come home with me? We have a big house and plenty of room. My little sister Julia is always pestering me to introduce her to one of my friends at the university. She’s very pretty and I think you might like her.”

   “Are you playing matchmaker?” I inquired.

   “No, Robert! I’m inviting you to my house to have a Thanksgiving dinner not to meet my sister. But, it’s like I said, she is very pretty.” He opened his wallet and showed me a photograph of his family. There were his mother and father in the middle, John was to the right and Julia, his sister was to the left. It was a recent photograph taken just before he returned to the university this semester. And it was as he said, she was strikingly attractive. John stands six feet in his stocking feet and comparing her height to his, she must be five six or seven in stature. John once told me that his family origins originated in Demark over a hundred and fifty years ago. That would explain why Julia appears like a Viking Queen, standing there with her long blond hair draped over her shoulders and hanging down halfway toward her waist. It accentuated her chiseled good looks and slender body. She truly was a sight to behold.

   I told John that I would accept his invitation to have dinner with his family. But, before we could leave, I explained that I had to contact my parents and wish them a happy holiday.

   There was a pay phone in the hallway of our dormitory. Mother answered the phone on the second ring. I explained to her that I had semester examinations in a few weeks. It was essential that I study over the weekend. After exchanging a few other comments, I assured her that I would be thinking about her and the family this Thanksgiving. With the words “I love you,” I hung up the receiver.

   I put the few decent clothing I owned into my suitcase, closed the lid and headed for the door with John in pursuit.

   John had a car parked a few blocks from campus at a service station. We loaded our suitcases into the trunk and began the two-hour drive to John’s family home.

   We drove north for about three hours and I enjoyed the country-side of South and North Carolina. The foliage had already had changed for the fall season, but much of its color was deposited on the forest floor. John said that growing up in North Carolina was every kid's dream. He had attended a private high school and rubbed elbows with some of the States wealthy. What I knew about John in the three and half years we shared a room, he was in his element. 

   John’s parents had a home about an hour’s ride outside the city limits of Raleigh. As we drove along the private road that led up to the homestead, I got the message that it was more like an estate. There was a twenty room mansion with stables and surrounded by a hundred acres of beautiful fields and virgin woodlands.

   About three-quarters of a mile from the main road, we parked between the stables and the mansion. Riding toward us from one of the many fields that surrounded the structures was a woman dressed in riding gear. She was riding what John described as an Andalusian. He said that when the family was vacationing in Spain a few years ago, Julia had rented a horse to ride. When she saw a grey Andalusian, she begged her father to purchase it for her. After an expensive financial transaction, the animal was shipped to their home in North Carolina. The thought crossed my mind this young lady is somewhat spoiled.

Whatever Happened to Virginia Dare?

On the morning of April 27, 1584, two clinker-built ships owned by Sir Walter Raleigh, the Ark Royal and the Mary Spark were anchored in the Portsmouth Harbor. The morning air was softly depositing spring pollen across the ships’ decks as the water lapped against their sides from the incoming tide. The ships were fully loaded with supplies, ammunition, and a complete complement of crew members. The previous night, a company of soldiers were divided between both vessels and bedded down for the night.

   The crew had been up early to prepare the ships for leaving with the afternoon outgoing tide. Everyone aboard was anxious to get underway. Their mission was to intercept a Spanish galleon that had been reported by British intelligence leaving Santo Domingo two days hence. According to the report, the ship was loaded down with gold and jewels, a port in Spain its destination. 

   The captains of the Ark Royal (Philip Amadas) and the Mary Stark (Arthur Barlowe) had been given permission by Queen Elizabeth to intercept this Spanish galleon and sail it back to England along with the contraband. The Queen had indicated that ten percent of the spoils would be divided among the crew and each captain would receive three percent for their trouble. Sir Walter Raleigh would receive five percent and the Crown would reimburse Raleigh for any damages that the ships might receive during the anticipated sea battle. Everyone aboard both ships was happy and agreeable with the arrangement.

   Around two hours after dawn as Captain Amadas sat at his desk studying charts of the Atlantic Ocean, a knock was heard at the door.

   Without looking up from the charts that he was studying, he said in a loud voice, “Enter!”

   The cabin door opened and his first mate Thomas Berns said, “Captain, Mr. Barlowe and several gentleman have come alongside in a jolly boat and are proceeding to come aboard, sir.”

   “Thank you, Mr. Berns. Have our visitors come directly to my cabin.”

   The first mate left and proceeded back on deck. Amadas began to roll up the charts that he had been studying and within several seconds a knock was heard again at the door.

   “Enter, please!” Captain Amadas said. He stood up from behind his desk to greet the visitors.

   The first to enter was Captain Arthur Barlowe followed by three distinguished gentlemen.

   “Captain Barlowe, please do the introductions,” Amadas said as he extended his hand in a welcoming gesture.

   “I would like to introduce you to Simon Fernandez who is a chief pilot by trade.”

   “It’s my pleasure, Mr. Fernandez,” Amadas said.

    Barlowe turned to John White said, “John is a famous artist who has traveled with the Queens Navy around the known world and has sketched wonderful pictures of foreign lands. John is scheduled to sail with Richard Granville’s ship to America in a few months to make maps and explore the coast line. 

    Amadas and White shook hands.

    Amadas said, “Yes, I’ve seen your work. You are a very talented, sir.”

    White responded, “Thank you sir for the compliment.”

     “And this is Thomas Harriot. Mr. Harriot” Barlowe said, “is a resident mathematician and intellectual at the Queens court.”

    Barlowe slightly paused, and with some hesitation said, “I have received a direct order from Sir Humphrey Gilbert on behalf of Sir Walter Raleigh who has been given a six year charter from the Queen to immediately explore and settle on her behalf, unclaimed portions of North America and to convert the natives to the Protestant faith.”

   He took another pause before he said, “We have been directed to take on this mission in the name of the Queen. Unfortunately, we are not going to intercept the Spanish galleon, but we’re to sail directly west to the North American coast and survey it for the possibility of establishing a colony. Richard Grenville’s ship will be following us in a month or so with metallurgists and explorers to determine the location of valuable metals. The Queen has indicated in this document that she will handsomely reward the crews and officers of both ships when they return to England in a year’s time.”

   Barlowe set the document down and Amadas looked at the desk as if to collect his thoughts. After a few moments, “I can’t say that I’m not disappointed. However, if Sir Walter wishes that we change the mission and the Queen has commanded it, we will do our duty.”





Tuesday, 3/14/2462@1530 

   My name is Adam Pagan. I am a junior officer aboard the space transportation system USS Triangulum I. We are presently 61 million miles from Earth and just beyond the Asteroid Belt of our solar system. At this point, we are just drifting. According to our calculations, the Einstein/Rosen Bridge (a Wormhole) is scheduled to be opening tomorrow. That’s our immediate destination.

   I have been tasked by Supreme Command to write a history that has led 5 million citizens in the United States to relocate in the Triangulum Galaxy. The USS Triangulum I has a population of 7026 men and women aboard with a wide variety of disciplines. Our mission is to establish a colony on planet M-23. The planet was designated habitable by our previous probes.

   Keeping with my mandate and beginning with this entry, I intend to begin a chronological order outlining what necessitated many of our United States citizens to evacuate their homeland and seek a new home in a distant galaxy. I will continue to make entries into this diary for as long as the Supreme Command wishes me.

   Early in the 21st century, the United States was under the threat from ISIS Jihadists terrorists from every other country in the world. ISIS had gained momentum with their movement to establish a ‘Muslim’ planet. They had created a caliphate in Syria and millions of young Muslims from all over the world including those from the United States rushed to join the jihad.

   In the past hundred years, Asia, including China, Japan and the greater part of what was once the Soviet Union put up a bloody struggle, but in vain. All those territories were eventually conquered. In most of these geographies, the populations were completely exterminated in the name of Allah after being tried under ‘Sharia Law.’

   The United States was the only county that was still free from this Muslim threat.  The southern borders of the United States were porous and individuals from several terrorist groups came through with one purpose, they wanted to destroy our citizens, our religions and our cities. Unfortunately, for the better part of that century, they were allowed to go unchecked. In many situations they carried out their terrorism with only a few repercussions. Unfortunately, the liberal leaders that ruled our government at that time believed that the United States should turn its other cheek. These officials refused to recognize the obvious danger and blamed this ‘Islamic Terrorism’ on everything other thing than what it was: ‘Jihad’ as outlined in the Quran. These liberals, year after year, made excuses for these murderers.

   Then in the middle of 22nd century, the United States population voted for an administration that finally took action and sealed all of its borders. A lethal electric fence and land mines were installed along the northern and southern borders. Missile batteries were at the ready to neutralize any aircraft attempting to enter the country. Mine fields were established along the east and west coasts. Our citizens were not allowed to leave the United States nor were anyone allowed in for any reason, whatsoever. The United States didn’t import or export anything and became a closed door nation.

   This drastic action, however, did not completely address the terror problem. Many of the Muslims that were living in the United States at that time belonged to a group called Hizb ut-Tahrir or Party of Liberation. The Hizb had been around for over a hundred years and had always been careful, except on a few occasions, to refrain from advocating violence. However, after the United States closed its borders to the world, the Muslims living in the United States took up allegiance with ISIS sympathizers abroad and began to terrorize the secular population through suicide bombings and roadside IUD’s. They met and plotted terrorism in their Mosques. This amounted to thousands of individuals planning and implementing internal destruction as well as plotting to take control of the government. It was calculated that the Muslim population was and would continue to double every 40 years. Arrests were made on a daily basis, but the ISIS terrorism continued. The Muslims living in the United States advocated the following:

    A Muslim has no country except that part of the Earth where the Sharia of Allah is established; a Muslim has no nationality except his belief; a Muslim has no relatives except those who share the belief in Allah.

   Periodically there were bombs placed in public places, attacks on congregations in Christian Churches and Jewish Temples. Big cities, sport stadiums and shopping malls were other targets for their destructive plots. The majority of these aggressions were planned in the Mosques by the radical Muslims.




   From the time I was old enough to read, I was always the main character in the story. If it was the Prince pursuing the Damsel in distress or the Princes in search of a Prince, I could experience a sexual desire for the individual of the opposite sex. Of course at the time, I didn’t know what that meant. As I grew older and became more aware of my sexuality, I began to wonder if everyone could be sexually attracted to both a male and female without a differentiation.

   I grew up in a small town within a conservative family. Everyone was expected to behave within the confines of their label. I was born a female; therefore, I was expected to behave within the definition of that brand.

   Then one day when I was a senior in high school, I read an interview with a beautiful and talented screen actress. The interviewer explored her sexual preferences. The actress stated in an answer to the interviewer’s question: “Of course, (I’m bisexual),” she said. “If I fell in love with a woman tomorrow, would I feel that it’s okay to want to kiss and touch her? When I fell in love with her? Absolutely! Yes!”

Read more: ANDROGYNY


An indiscretion is an act of variance with the accepted morality of a society. The stories on the following pages are riddled with indiscretion made by the main characters within each chapter. 

    The first story is more about consternation. Daniel met Sharon on a blind date a year and a half ago. After the second date they became an item. Sharon confessed to Daniel, before their first sexual encounter, her kinky needs and preferences. After a year of wild and incredible sex, they become engaged to be married. At the engagement party, Daniel is introduced to Dale who is the stepsister of the bride. There is instant chemistry. They sneak off to a bedroom during the party and have sex. Daniel is now between a rock and a hard place or at least that’s what he thought. 

   The second story involves a man entering into a relationship with a dominate woman (Louisa) who needs to perform pain on her sexual partner. Otherwise, she has a problem reaching sexual gratification.  Louisa has no problem taking on the role of teacher. Her partner, Nathan, has made the mistake of falling in love with Louisa before he had time to evaluate her sexual needs. 

   The third story features Carl who is about to begin a job in a different State. He has been invited to stay with a friend from college (Rosalie) and her husband. Carl and Rosalie had been intimate when they were staying in their coed dormitory. Rosalie’s husband is a salesman. He frequently goes out of town for several days at a time. Rosalie’s hormones kick in when she sees Carl after several years. Carl becomes Rosalie’s sex slave. 

Read more: Indescretions

The Artist


The Marquis de Sade once said, “Sex is as important as eating or drinking and we ought to allow the one appetite to be satisfied with as little restraint or false modesty as the other.” 

As a disciple of the Marquis, I subscribe to his philosophy. My name is Adele Noel. I am the only child of Reginald Noel, the multibillion heir of Steel fame. A trust fund was setup for me when I was born. The entire ten million dollars of that fund will become available to me when I graduate from the University I am presently attending in Paris.

I’m twenty one years old, I stand at five foot, five inches in my stocking feet and I weigh in at one hundred and ten pounds. I have black hair and a curvy build. My friends are always telling me I should be a model based on my looks. Art is my major in college. After I graduate, I intend to move back to New York and purchase some property in the SOHO section of that city. I intend to have my own studio.

When I was eighteen, I discovered something about myself. I have a dominate personality. My best friend, Fran, roomed with me when I moved to Paris. She is a very attractive brunet with a body that doesn’t quit. Living in close proximity to Fran, I also learned that I had a sexual attraction toward her. Within a short period of time, we were sleeping together. Fran has been very submissive and would let me sexually experiment with her. 

Read more: The Artist

Forbidden Love


My mental life has become more painful than a root canal. I am an expert on pain. My profession is dentistry. Looking back over my life, I was more advantaged than most. My father was a successful lawyer and my mother was a podiatrist. I attended a private elementary school. The high school I attended had a higher tuition rate than many colleges. There were only ten students to a class. When it came time to go to college, I was prepared. I applied and was accepted into an Ivy League institution.  I was on my way. Or at least, I thought I was. The day I entered college the course of my life was set. 

    My father accompanied me to the campus and helped me unload my things into the dorm room. Due to my excellent secondary education grades, I was put into to what was called the “Honors Program.” My dorm building was coed; it housed some of the brightest and affluent students in the country. They had been prepped for their futures. They were determined to achieve their goals. Sometime during my junior year in high school, and after a lot of coaching from my parents, my selection was dentistry. I knew that it was going to be a long road to travel, but I was going to put it in high gear.

   Now, like most young men my age, I thought about sex a lot. I was still a virgin, but I was determined to do something about it. The young women I knew in high school were very conscience of their moral standing. The last thing that they wanted was to be labeled was “floozy.” I was prepared to have sex with one of these nymphs and practice discretion. I was not out to ruin anyone’s reputation. But after several attempts, I could not find any interested parties. I was determined to take up this challenge in college.

Read more: Forbidden Love

Mercenaries III


    Standing at Shada’s grave site made me reflect on my own life. Shada was a good comrade. She was highly valued by the “Company.” When she decided to disappear, there was a void left in our ranks. Although I was sorry to see her leave the “Company,” somehow, I had felt deep down that she was probably still alive.    

    It had been reported that she perished in an aviation accident. Like everyone else, I accepted the fact the she was gone.  Then one day, I was tasked with confirming her death by examining the wreckage of the aircraft. The aircraft had been spotted from the air in the Darien Gap. The Darien Gap is an impenetrable jungle south of Panama on the border with Colombia. The Pan American Highway on the north side ends at the Gap and does not continue until well into Colombia. Due to the denseness and the marshy composite of the soil, it made connecting the highway from north to the south impossible.  Shada’s aircraft had been down in the Gap for over two years before it was discovered.  Due to the condition of the aircraft from the air, it was believed that no one could have survived the accident.   

    When I inspected the aircraft, the flight deck was empty. On the floor in front of the second seat was a brochure advertising St. Kitts. That convinced me that Shada had faked her demise. I was very fond of Shada. 

   We were comrades and spent many hours together accomplishing missions. We had discussed retiring from the “Company” in the past. It has become common knowledge that one cannot retire from the “Company.” If you attempt a retirement, the “Company” will hunt you down and neutralize you. I was witness to that fact on several occasions.  

   I covered for Shada by producing phony photos of remains in a cockpit of a Cherokee aircraft. After presenting the photos to the Colonel, the CEO of the “Company,” he bought the fact that she was in fact dead. However, the client, a woman by the name of Nefertiabet was not convinced. She believed that Shada had murdered her father. Her father had sexually abused Shada while he had her as a prisoner in his house in Alexandria, Egypt. That convinced Nefertiabet that Shada had a motive.  

Read more: Mercenaries III

The Saga of Paul Dudley


At the beginning of the 1700’s, the Abenaki Indians had been doing the bidding of the French. Acadia (modern day Maine) was completely under Abenaki control. They held the passes through the northern wilderness. So long as the Abenaki were in the interest of the French, they protected the French settlements along the St. Lawrence River.

More recently, however, the Abenaki were considering holding talks with the British at Boston. They had seen the easy conquest of Port Royal by the British and had experienced several successful raids on Abenaki villages with considerable losses. Therefore, they feared the British on the one hand and they were attracted to their trade on the other. Six of their chiefs were invited to sign a truce with the commissioners of Massachusetts. When the French learned of this invitation they were filled with alarm. The French relied on the Abenaki to fight their battles.

Presents were sent from Quebec to all of the Abenaki missions. They were assured that French soldiers would join their war parties. There was one thing that would be indispensable. A blow must be struck that would encourage and excite the Abenaki. Many of them had no part in considering the truce. Those Abenaki were still keen for British blood. A deputation of their chiefs told the governor at Quebec, they would fight the British even if they must head their arrows with the bones of beasts. Guns, powder and lead were given to them in abundance. The Jesuits of the various missions urged their converts to take to the war path. 

Read more: The Saga of Paul Dudley

Mercenaries II



Shada was introduced in first novel “Mercenaries.” She was educated at Johns Hopkins Medical School and because of a love interest she was eventually trained by Al Qaida. She conducted missions for Al Qaida in the mid-east until she was captured by the “Company.” She became very close to being neutralized. Frank the main character in “Mercenaries” saved her life. After being bought by an Egyptian slave dealer, she was eventually released to Frank. He had her returned to the “Compound” in Panama. The “Company” determined through interrogation that her background in performing Neutralization Missions made her a candidate for hire. After twelve weeks of training, she spent several years conducting many successful missions and had become a valuable asset.  

In addition to her success working for the “Company,” she had a desire to return to the profession that she had originally been trained, “Medicine”. Her personal life, when she’s not conducting missions is quite spicy. By her own admission, she is over sexed, hedonistic and satisfies that craving at every turn.

Read more: Mercenaries II

Mercenaries of Panama

The autumn in Virginia stirs nostalgia for those disposed to a past life. I’ve always had the strangest feelings that somewhere, at sometime, I had lived here before. It was before the time of Washington and Fairfax. 

It was in the very early days of this exciting Colony. It was during a time when the aboriginal people lived and hunted on this land. Don’t get me wrong! I don’t believe in reincarnation! As a matter of fact, I don’t believe in the afterlife, whatsoever. It’s just a feeling I get when the leaves begin to display their myriad of colors, the air is crisp and clear, and the smell of winter is faintly intermingling with the left over humidity of the past summer. 

Frank Jr. is gone. My son is gone. Out of the two hundred and forty three passengers on flight 534, two hundred and forty bodies were recovered. Frank’s wasn’t one of them. I still haven’t resigned myself to my son being dead. I can accept the fact that Frank is missing or gone, but not dead. I’m somewhere between grief and hope. When the telephone rings or when the mail is delivered, I almost expect to receive word that my son is somewhere alive and doing the things that we both dreamed about his doing. 

Twelve days after the Aircraft disappeared off the radar scope, just outside the Rome Airport, it was determined that a bomb was the cause of the disaster. That made the tragedy all the more impossible to bare. Who could have done such a thing? The question was, why? What kind of animal would kill innocent people? And what would be accomplished? I didn’t have any answers to these questions. No one did. Not the Airline, nor the authorities, nor the President of the United States.  There were two hundred and forty three people dead for nothing. Or at least nothing that was readily identifiable. I had to know. I had to find out why my son was sacrificed on this altar of terrorism. It was time to go to work. Since that night in August, I haven’t been able to collect myself and get started in some direction. That time came this morning. When, for the first time in two months, I got up, got dressed, got in my car and began to drive to work. 

Read more: Mercenaries of Panama


The year is 1976 before Perestroika and the demolition of the Berlin Wall. The entire action of the play takes place in a top floor Greenwich Village apartment.  The apartment has been remodeled for use by an artist.  The north side of the room is a floor to ceiling window slightly slanting in at the roof.  One can see the roofs of other buildings when the curtains of the window are drawn.  The apartment is large, (the entire length of the stage); however, it is only one room.  It is divided into two parts, one side where Alex Serov works, and the other where he lives.  His living quarters are furnished very modestly: a sofa-bed combination, a small table covered with books and laundry to be ironed, a small refrigerator, three chairs and a foot locker, which serves as additional seating.  The other side of the apartment is cluttered with paintings, easels, another small table covered with a sheet, paints, brushes, turpentine, etc.  The apartment, although modestly furnished, has a warm and friendly atmosphere produced by the way it is lighted and the relative orderliness of Alex.  As the play opens, Alex is lying on the bed.  The time is 8:00 A.M.  After a moment the alarm sounds, he awakens, turns if off and sits on the side of the bed rubbing his face.  He rises, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and proceeds to put on his pants.  The pants are of the black chino variety and some paint at a distant time was wiped either by carelessness or out of desperation on the upper thigh parts, leaving permanent smudges.  He opens the foot locker and puts on a heavy grey sweat shirt.  He goes to the refrigerator and gets out a half glass of milk, takes a drink, and walks slowly over to his work area.  He pauses in front of an easel, lifts the cover and examines the painting carefully.  After studying the painting for a long time he drops the cover, walks to the window and pulls open the drapes.  He stands in front of the window looking out at the rooftops.  After a moment a knock is heard at the door.

Read more: Enigma


The entire action of this play is set in a very old two-story house in Philadelphia. The acting area consists of two rooms in the downstairs area of the house. The most important of these rooms is the living-dining room combination. A large stuffed sofa is located at stage right and is decorated with crocheted doilies on its arm rests and center head rest. A stuffed chair with a foot rest is decorated similarly to the sofa and faces a very old TV set standing against the right wall. Against the rear wall right is an old china closet filled with magazines, old pigeon trophies, and sundry items. Upstage right is a door that leads to the roof. Center stage is a round wooden table covered with a table cloth. Over the table is a multi-colored lamp shade from the 1890’s era. Placed around the table are four matching wooden chairs. Stage left is a kitchen cabinet over a small sink, a gas stove, a refrigerator, and an ironing board set up with an iron on it. This entire area serves as the kitchen. The walls are done in a cheap wood paneling. The small window over the sink is dressed in cheap curtains. Next to the window is the back door, and this is the only outside entrance and exit used during the entire production. Drapes cover the entire right wall with the exception of the front door down right that is never used. Upstage center is a small table with a telephone; next to the table is a floor model Zenith radio, with all the bands from police to radio Moscow. On the wall upstage center is a large photograph of Grandmother (Lester dressed like an old woman), and to the left of the photograph is a clothes tree. In the kitchen area there are three large and relatively new garbage cans that contain a variety of feed. They are marked CORN, RACER-BREEDER, and GRIT. These cans are used frequently throughout the play. As the play opens the time is 5:30 P.M. and the day is Thursday, sometime in April. The sound of pigeons cooing is heard coming from the area over the stage. Suddenly a rustling of wings is heard and the sound of them ascending in flight. Sounds of shrieking whistles and Lester’s voice screaming.

Read more: Pigeons

A Search for Love


    Someone once wrote, “A woman has to kiss a lot of “toads” before she finds a Prince.” I guess I’m one of those “toads.” I’m patiently waiting for the right woman to kiss me before I find “Love.” 

    My name is Matt Matthews. This is my story.  In 1980, I was the number one disk jockey in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.  I was twenty-eight years old. I was the on a fast track professionally. I made a good salary. I had great digs. Life was perfect.  I never had trouble getting women. Everyone told me, I was better looking than the average guy.  Needless to say, I had what could be described as a great personality.  That explained my success in the broadcasting industry. 

   I discovered this personality gift during my first semester at college. I was a communications major. The university I attended had a campus radio station. I auditioned.  I was given an “On the Air” slot three evenings a week. After a month of doing a request show, my personality began to blossom. The station management got so many complimentary comments on my performance; they moved me to five nights a week. The word spread. The radio station broadcast to the community as well as the campus. A manager of a commercial FM Station happened to tune into my show one evening. He called me when I got off the air. He inquired if I would be interested in doing a rendition of the campus show on weekends at his station. That was my first commercial broadcasting job. I was only a freshman in college. Over the next three years, I became known as one of the best DJ’s in the greater Boston area. In my senior year, I had three offers from commercial radio stations. I took the best offer. It turned out to be in Harrisburg. That was five years ago. I knew that this was my calling in life. It was what I was destined to do. I had everything. Life was great.   

Read more: A Search for Love