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- Author: Michael Overa
- Publisher: Unsolicited Press
- ISBN-10: 1947021206
- ISBN-13: 9781947021204
- Format: 15.2 x 22.9 x 1.4 cm, minkšti viršeliai
- Language: English
- SAVE -10% with code: EXTRA
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Description
THIS ENDLESS ROAD is the second short story collection by Michael Overa. The collection travels. It winds about on roads that have nothing but the horizon in sight. From the title story, Overa writes,
The overnight Greyhound from San Antonio is a piss smelling thing crowded with the boredom of the thousands who have worn the seats threadbare over the years. Rita has been unable to sleep, and by the time the bus stops in a nowhere town somewhere in New Mexico, she drags herself from a precarious half-sleep. She's starving and the only thing open at six in the morning is a diner a half block from the bus depot, one of those places obligated to spring up along the highway at nearly perfect intervals, all vinyl booths and syrup stained tables that might as well have been pre-manufactured. She sits at the long counter next to the only other patron, a middle-aged trucker type with a face carved and eroded by wind, time, and sun.
EXTRA 10 % discount with code: EXTRA
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- Author: Michael Overa
- Publisher: Unsolicited Press
- ISBN-10: 1947021206
- ISBN-13: 9781947021204
- Format: 15.2 x 22.9 x 1.4 cm, minkšti viršeliai
- Language: English English
THIS ENDLESS ROAD is the second short story collection by Michael Overa. The collection travels. It winds about on roads that have nothing but the horizon in sight. From the title story, Overa writes,
The overnight Greyhound from San Antonio is a piss smelling thing crowded with the boredom of the thousands who have worn the seats threadbare over the years. Rita has been unable to sleep, and by the time the bus stops in a nowhere town somewhere in New Mexico, she drags herself from a precarious half-sleep. She's starving and the only thing open at six in the morning is a diner a half block from the bus depot, one of those places obligated to spring up along the highway at nearly perfect intervals, all vinyl booths and syrup stained tables that might as well have been pre-manufactured. She sits at the long counter next to the only other patron, a middle-aged trucker type with a face carved and eroded by wind, time, and sun.
Reviews