C. A. Winter Blog

Goose, single, paid in full, no tab. Glance of interest from the male bartender with his could-be-either vibe. Andro. Does he care? My eyes open to make sure he watches as I slug the room-temp shot down in an unflinching gulp. It doesn’t burn and I want him, them, whoever, to know it doesn’t. It. Doesn’t.  There are coloured string lights and stale ale in the air. Lots of thrifted gone-to-waste records on the ceiling and a million polaroids of dogs. A thousand dogs, a hundred million dogs on the wall. How or why they’re there is lost on me and the bartender places the glowing point of sale in front of me and leaves.  Ten and a two-buck-ish tip. I noticed the options were eighteen, twenty, and twenty five percent instead of the normal ten, fifteen, and twenty. It’s cute, I like it. This economy, I sympathize. But I pick eighteen. We’re seated now and the others are about a third into their drinks. She’s ordered a pina colada and her sister’s got some weird sugarball cocktail th...

 I sit at my computer with my eyes glued to the keyboard. Small glimmers of white light shine behind the keys. Dust illuminated by the subtlety. My fingernail cannot reach it. Where can I buy compressed air? Chat GPT says Staples, one kilometre away, they are open until nine. On a Sunday? Who needs Staples at nine on a Sunday?  Reddit feed has been excessively dry and there’s been no notifications in over a week. This is my fault. I have not been interacting, commenting, posting, nothing. I scroll. Upvote something I didn’t read that already has twenty upvotes- must be good- then I close it and find myself aimlessly looking on local job boards for jobs although I am employed. Financially I’m fine enough to continue at the rate I’m at but there’s always room for growth. I click on insurance jobs, low-level bank jobs, marketing jobs, jobs that require little physical strain and minimal qualifications. Desk Clerk Fourteen-Month Term strikes my fancy. Inbound clients, responsibili...

  Night time I’m on the fifth floor and the lights in the window horizon are spiked diamonds blue and white and red. Then some are green. My skin is bumpy as I put my pants over each leg and hobble to the bathroom atop frozen tiles just to take my pants back off for a moment as I sit on a freezing toilet bowl. The plastic seat shifts under me.  My phone has kept me up for too long and now all I hear is a cricket dully somewhere nearby and a soft whir from electrical components in the room. It’s a suite with a kitchen, one very long, very unused desk and a television as large as a wall that acts as the divider between the bed(room) and the couch area which passes as a living room. The algorithm has been dark and mysterious. Too many times I was told to like, follow, comment, and direct message to ‘lock in’ some kind of blessing or future. Money, status, sex. All three were promised so long as I complete those three simple steps, and I scrolled before they told me the final, mos...

 Good evening,  Thank you for reading. In brief, these are two excerpts from my second draft of (Title Pending, STGRX). The first excerpt is the ORIGINAL opener, in the third person. The second is the SAME SCENE through Alan's eyes, first person perspective. This opener was written in December 2025 around Christmas. This redo was done this week. I think this is an intriguing study of my own progress, growth, and overall development of the story.  Enjoy! Excerpt from "The Dog Job" opening to (Title Pending, STGRX) He snatched the keys from the ignition and dumped them in his jacket. His hair itched from the balaclava. In the rear view, the bay was motionless and dark. A lamppost at the end of the street stood orange and alone against a moonless night. Alan shuffled around in his backpack for something. He already had his mask over his face. “Do we need to run through it again?” Robbie asked, peering over.  “I think we’re good.” “Back door, right?” “Yeah. You care if I...