Written by Dave Rowe – Hello readers, I’m Tommy Wilkens and what I do is sit on a bench on the Atlantic City boardwalk playing my guitar and singing in hopes that people will stop to listen, then drop money in my case. So look, here comes a middle-aged couple. He’sContinue Reading
Written by Dave Rowe – To pay the unreasonably high rent and put food on his bachelor table he’s at it seven days a week, some evenings, too. Tom Wilkes, tall, thin and ponytailed, is a barista at Effingham’s Starbucks; “barista” being a high-fluting term for server behind the counter.Continue Reading
Written by Dave Rowe – Well, it’s 5:45 in the evening and I’m at – where I always seem to be at – the supermarket. I’ve got this wife Doris (blond but by no means a Doris Day) and whenever I get home from my day at Cleveland Commerce she’s onContinue Reading
Written by Dave Rowe – It’s a thick, scratchy black and tan dog suit, and on these sultry days Tom stands on the sidewalk inside of it, waving cars and pedestrians toward Gus’s Pets. This afternoon a woman, middle-aged at best, walks up. “Oh sir,” she says, “I’ve been soContinue Reading
Written by Dave Rowe – It took two beers but finally George got his courage up to speak to Tanya, the deeply cleavaged, dark-eyed beauty behind the bar at Max’s. Finally, following a throat-clearing, it came – “So I understand you guys are gonna have music tomorrow night.” “That’s right,”Continue Reading
