“Stop there,” muscle head said. He had a gun Prosby noticed, a Walter PP, pretty bad-ass pistol. Prosby didn’t realize he said that out loud. “I’ll show you how it works and fired a shot that whizzed by Prosby’s right ear. “Now go ahead, piss and let’s go.” Prosby turned to a tree. He took … Continue reading His and Hurricanes (Pt. 8 in a serial story)