Time: 6:02 P.M.
Date: July 16, 20—
Place: Milton, Pennsylvania
Jackal was writing in his diary again instead of working on his latest book of short poetry. The sun was setting, and nighttime approached. A blue-purple evening with a heavy overcast welcomed rain, thunder, and a blistering sky filled with shards of yellow-gold lightning. A light wind pressed affectionately against the house and sounded as if children were whispering as he wrote. He was on his second gin and tonic with ice, felt a bit light-headed for some reason, and methodically negated what to place inside the diary next. Of course, he had scrawled out a pontific scene of Calvin’s unexpected morning visit. What kind of diarist would he be if he hadn’t? And yes, Jackal had spent the last hour developing Buddy DeFiore’s ch
