My best friend, Gucci Dudwurtz, got his nickname from the fact that he lived in a cast of some description more often than not.
It wasn't that Gucci was abused. It came from the fact that his hero was Evil.
Not the bad evil. The Evil with the motorcycle, and that big cape, who liked to perform all those stunts that often left him wearing casts, too.
The week Gucci broke his wrist, his foot, and cracked a rib riding his bike off Herman Blight's barn roof was when Gucci really lived up to his nickname.
His daddy, adding up the doctors' and hospital's bill, declared that his son cost more than his wife's designer pocketbooks ever would. Gucci warmed to the idea of being a designer kid, so the name stuck.
I, on the other hand, was never lucky enough to earn a label.
My name was Tom Bland. And like my name, I excelled in being average, boring, and blah.
Not that Gucci minded one bit.
The fact he'd chipped three of front teeth left him with a smile that fell somewhere on the spectrum between butt ugly and flat-out frightening.
Since I was always that kid, you know the one, the last picked for any sport, and Gucci was the champion bench warmer because of his many injuries, we naturally became fast friends.
And it didn't hurt that Gucci was everything I was not.
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Love Songs: The Wrong Note - A Collection of Short Stories
General FictionA second volume of short stories in the Love Songs collection. Many of the stories in this collection focus on the theme of love and how it sometimes goes wrong. A large collection of stories that run the gamut from humorous to tragic. 1. Love Songs...
