The Britannia Club stood on King Street, a respectable limestone facade among respectable limestone facades, with a brass plaque that nobody had looked at in decades; if you had to stop to check the address, you were clearly in the wrong place.
This was St. James. “Clubland.”
The men traversing these streets walked with that air of self-assurance that comes from belonging to a privileged set. In bookish Bloomsbury, the Londoners drifted around the British Museum in the wake of lit. . .
All, thank you for the support. Things have been progressing well... This update disappeared before I could send it, so I’m doing it again. I am thrilled to have acquired some followers for Smoke of a .95, and have added another "chapter." (It doesn’t actually have chapters, so I just look for a good stopping place.) I hope you enjoy it. It is the first of two completed novels in what I hope will be a series of parodies of Westerns and Science Fiction/Fantasy on a parallel earth, starring Wolf and Moby, with third and fourth novels about halfway through first drafts.
Thanks to Johnny Dee, Chris Huang, Patrick Sheane Duncan and Terry for your support!
Tom Galusha
