Monthly Archives: August 2022

Most Dangerous Drivers in Pattaya

August 19, 2022 – 1:34 pm

I’ve been traveling in Asia over thirty years and have survived a head-on motorcycle crash along the Burma border, a mudslide in Sulawesi, and the chaos of Bangkok traffic. My scariest drive in Thailand was during a blinding rainstorm through the Khao Yai Mountains. Insects smashed into the windscreen and the wipers smeared their bodies […]

By Peter | Posted in Driving, Health, Heaven, motorbikes, motorcycles, Pattaya | Tagged , , , , , | Comments (0)

AN ITALIAN PLAN by Peter Nolan Smith

August 18, 2022 – 7:42 pm

CHAPTER 1 The winter of 1987 was cold enough to freeze the Housatonic River and the town of Kent erected an elaborate float on the thick ice. Each year the townspeople organized a pool to guess the date when the ice could no longer bear the float’s weight. Two days after a January blizzard I […]

By Peter | Posted in New England, semi-fiction | Tagged , | Comments (0)

LAST CALL IN BUTTE MONTANA by Peter Nolan Smith

August 17, 2022 – 8:47 am

Tonight I rolled into Butte, Montana. Beating the M and M Bar’s last call. Gram Parsons sang on the jukebox. ‘Streets of Baltimore.’ Mona loved that song And I never done her wrong. Last week in Bozeman, Montana I woke to an empty bed No sign of Mona. Only a burning egg And a note […]

By Peter | Posted in Poetry, The West | Tagged , | Comments (0)

AN ITALIAN PLAN by Peter Nolan Smith

August 14, 2022 – 1:37 am

CHAPTER 1 The winter of 1987 was cold enough to freeze the Housatonic River and the town of Kent erected an elaborate float on the thick ice. Each year the townspeople organized a pool to guess the date when the ice could no longer bear the float’s weight. Two days after a January blizzard I […]

By Peter | Posted in Fiction | Tagged , , | Comments (0)

April 16, 1977 – Journal Entry

August 9, 2022 – 10:11 pm

After the execs leave, Antonio and I look out the windows of the Ebasco executive dining room. A thick fog obscures Lower Manhattan, as the last gasps of the Arctic is strangled by a spring breeze from the south. We have finished with lunch and wipe the silverware clean. The Spanish waiter surprises me with […]

By Peter | Posted in 70s, journal | Tagged | Comments (0)