Wednesday, February 10, 2016 Page Options
A Hot Dry Spell
  Everybody is misunderstood sometimes, so why does Grainger think he will have no problem? He knows all the words, he is focused on his mission and he thinks faster than any human on earth. So why is he having such a terrible time fitting in and making sense of life on our planet?

Join Grainger on his malapropistic journey and discover true meaning ... and context. A Hot Dry Spell, miscommunication on an intergalactic scale.

A Hot Dry Spell by Henry Lindley available May, 2011!
An Excerpt from A Hot Dry Spell


Joann placed her hands on her hips, “car lot, mobile home, taco stand,” raising her chin skyward, “massage parlor?” Grainger’s mind raced with this new assault of imagery, but he was tired and for once what came naturally served him well. Grainger drew a breath. “While those all sound very enticing, Ms. Dillion, my first acquisition will need to be a rather sizable apportionment of open real estate.”

Joann’s eyebrow had gone up at “Ms. Dillion” but had relaxed at “sizable apportionment of real estate”. Perhaps this wasn’t the rube she had taken him for. But still those glasses, and here it was full-blown night already. To say nothing of the evidence the glasses on the table attested to.

Joann nodded, “We can handle all of that Mr. Grainger,” refusing to use the more familiar first name. “But people will ask, and therefore I must, about these glasses.”

Grainger reached for his leather bag and pulled it on his shoulder. “I doubt as many people as you think, Ms. Dillion. But it is a medical condition, if that satisfies your curiosity.”

Joann was a bit thrown by this sudden shift in control of the conversation. Grainger moved to the top of the steps. “Do you have an old beater? I understand it’s good to have them in motion now and again”. It was Joann’s jaw that slackened this time as Grainger made his way down the steps.

Moments later the pair were zipping along the darkened streets in a sleek automobile. Grainger ran his hand along the smooth leather surface. He found the texture to be reassuring; solid in the same way he had felt about the name Gary. He became so engrossed in this reflection that his hand slipped to Joann’s seat and brushed by her leg. Her reaction was swift. She slapped his hand away and slammed on the brake.

Grainger’s first thought was the obvious mistake he had just made, however inadvertently it had happened, it would be hard to explain that you were so taken by the feel, the supple texture, of the automobile’s upholstery that you rubbed your newly hired, opposite gender, lawyer’s leg.

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