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The natives called the Viento De Fuego - "Firewind". South of Arroyo Grande They were known as Santana...Diablo...or, most commonly, the Santa Ana. Whatever you called them, they blew incessantly, moaning through the canyons, gusting across the plains. Mix them with the ions in the air and they caused, for some unfortunates, migraines. You are one of the unfortunates.
Out of His Depth
The pale, baleful eye of the October moon peeked hesitantly through the ragged line of clouds, casting its luminous glow over the deserted camp grounds. The rosy cheeked, long-legged, giggling battalion of young girls in their flashing white Camp Granada t-shirts had long departed, trading the sparkling lake and rolling archery course for the dreary tedium of high school class rooms and teachers' faces. The autumn breeze sighed its loneliness over the placid surface of Lake Granada. Down below is dun-colored depths a fat wall-eye lingered curiously over the shifting mud at the lake's bottom. Something stirred in the thick sludge. Something white rolling surface...something long dead...yet hideously alive.
A Wack in the Woods
It was Alice who suggested the vacation in Germany. After all, didn't they both speak the language fluently? Hadn't they earned some time abroad? "get away from it all" She'd said. "See the German countryside!" She didn't say anything about getting lost in it.
Binky Bradshaw came puffing down Cimmaron street in his old devil costume, griping and complaining all the way. It was still pretty early and the other kids hadn't hit the streets yet. Binky really did look pretty ridiculous in that costume - I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. But he had always looked ridiculous in it, so that was nothin' new. No newer than his gripin'.