Blazes Office.jpg
 

Welcome to

Blaze’s ROOM


 

As usual, there’s three-quarters of a joint left burning—unattended—and a percolator full of GreenSleeves OG Joe on the desk. Who knows where Blaze is. Heck, he’s probably so blasted even he doesn’t know where he is. Blaze is great, I mean, he really is, but, sometimes you just wanna grab him by the shoulders and shake him and say, “get a grip.” Ya know? Granted, he’s always, and I mean always, looking sharp as a tac, decked to the hilt in the finest threads DOGE can buy, and the very tone of his voice makes you think he spent his whole life walking away from explosions in a sepia toned cologne commercial playing on a television in the upper corner of a Minnesota diner where everyone’s eating banana pancakes while it snows outside for the 73rd day in a row and the waitress is talking about the sprained ankle her son Lester got during the hockey game the kids had goin’ at the frozen pond behind Merchie’s—and it was that goash darn Ronny who did it ya know… but he’s a bastard on his mother’s side and she wouldn’t say an evil word against him bless his heart, but heck, if it isn’t the last thing she needs what with all the slippin’ Harold’s been doin’ off the stairs out front of the sheriff’s office every since he’s been havin’ to take up extra night—shifts, but the coffee is hot and the strawberry rhubarb pie is better and…

Wow that really got away from me. Listen to me talkin’ the day away. But wouldn’t ya know it here comes Blaze walkin’ in right this minute…

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting. I had to step out for a moment or two, if you’ll forgive me… Rollins requested a copy of my latest revisions to the Pilot Episode of Snowy Mountain Pass. One of these days well get that show off the boat ya know.”


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