What You Don’t Feel Can Kill You
Here’s a book you might be interested in if you enjoy reading self-improvement books.
I helped my friend Herb Palmer, Jr. write this book several years ago and have decided to make it available to you right here on this web site for only $12.95 plus $3.00 postage and handling (mailed First Class). I’ll even personally autograph it for you as a little “thank you” bonus.
A Short Story Called JAY
By
Geoffrey Zimmerman
His name was Jay and whenever I hear the name, it reminds me of this boy. The name Jay, to me, has a singular meaning. It means Jay Bauer. We were twelve when we met. I don’t recall exactly how we met. He probably came up to me and said “Hi”, and that was that. Those kinds of things happen when you’re twelve years old.
He took me to his house. It was very close to mine. Only ten or twelve houses away, and it was relatively big, much like mine. Our neighborhood contained nice, large colonial houses. A comfortable upper middle class neighborhood, with trees, sidewalks and mailmen that knew you by name. My mother didn’t work, something I didn’t think strange or uncommon at the time. Nobody else I knew had working mothers either, with one exception – “Frankie” Bailey, the mother of one of my closest friends. She was a… continue reading Jay
A True Story
Here’s a true story that I wrote way back when I was working on the t.v. show Miami Vice – Geoff
LORRAINE
By
Geoffrey Zimmerman
I love you, Lorraine. I haven’t seen you in years and years. And, most assuredly I will never see you again. Before I met you, I know no one had ever said these words to you. Maybe by now they have, but I’ll never be sure. Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, I know you are selfless, unquestionably devoted, and maybe someone cares. I do.
Ah, to live in Miami. The biggest vacation hot spot on the East coast, and probably the country. I live in a bungalow in Coconut Grove. Not a town, but an official village, just south of Miami proper, directly across the bay from Miami Beach.
I sit along the sidewalk, (on the sidewalk, actually), at the local bar, The Village Inn, taking it all in. I wear a Speedo and twist in my seat, the white wrought iron chair pinching my bare thighs, and peer down Grove Avenue. I can easily make out the bench where I sat two years ago, alone, drunk, thinking deep thoughts of what was to lie in the future. So ironic.
My first night in this town. I came to the Village Inn with my brother, his girlfriend, (at the time), and their friend, Hope. We drank, laughed and danced to Jimmy Buffet. I had drank too much and was feeling dizzy, so I came outside to clear my head, and sat myself down at that bench. My first night in town. I peered left down the road, then right, then left again. Left seemed more interesting to me. I wondered what lay that direction. Now I know. I’ve been living on that road for a year now. I walk that road in a skimpy bathing suit and flip flops to go to the store to buy cigarettes.
I’ll never forget that first night in town.
Down that road. …The waitress pulls my… continue reading.
Spy
A very short story I wrote ages ago. Enjoy. – Geoff
He rose early this morning. The mist before his face carried the scent of impending doom.”What if the plan doesn’t succeed?”, he pondered. Teeth. Breakfast. Coffee. Smokes. Teeth again, and he was off, over the balcony. Ten feet down. An hour and a half later he was at the wooded clearing he had so carefully chosen one week before. “Why did I brush my teeth?”, he thought. He waited. Bad to be early. The cold air bit at his nose. He waited. No way to turn back now… continue reading.