Adam Spielman

A writer's blog.

The angel at the docks pointed north and Jim thanked her for the canoe. He rowed for an hour and came to a place where the lake became narrow and snaked between roots and rocks. It opened up into a silent cove. The water looked like a block of metal reflecting the sky, and in …

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Jim couldn’t take it anymore.  He looked away.  The angel laughed, grabbed the telescope, and looked for himself. “This is nothing,” the angel said.  “You should have seen Carthage.  Or Nanking.  Or Rwanda.  Hell, I’ve seen prison-rapes that were more entertaining.” “Entertaining,” Jim repeated.  He just couldn’t wrap his head around it.  “So this – …

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Jim was on a pleasant hike through a mountain pass.  It felt good to breathe some fresh air.  Some Tennessee air.  A lazy crick ran alongside him, and there were birds in the trees.  If there were seasons in Paradise, it was late summer.  Everything was green and the air dangled between warm and cool. …

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The Orgy was a floating ship with red sails.  It was enormous and Jim couldn’t fit it into his brain. It’s like New York City flying over Tennessee, he thought. “How big is this place?” he said. “You’re looking at it.” “No, I mean, like, the whole thing.  Paradise.” Cherry flicked him in the nose.  …

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“Fore!” Jim yelled.  Even in Paradise he hooked the damn ball. “Ha!” Hitler laughed.  “Right in the trees!” A bear-drawn chariot carried them up the fairway.  Jim looked sideways at his companion, thinking he looked much better without the mustache.  This was all the result of a lottery, the winner of which was balls deep …

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“Pizza? I didn’t think there’d be pizza in heaven,” Jim said. “Why not? Pizza is the shit,” the angel said. “And cursing. And beer? Is that beer?” In fact, the table was laid out with all the things Jim loved. Chicken wings, malt whiskey, chili fries, club sandwiches, those little wieners wrapped in bacon. Over …

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