Bill shares a house with straight-edge skinhead Kevin,
TV addict Erin and their hippy landlord Jim. He runs his own sprinkler business
and spends his free time reading the 1953 Thompson's Guide to L.A., searching
for the old city beneath the freeways and HOV lanes of the modern metropolis.
That's when he's not obsessing about earthquakes and dreaming about seismology.
After an unsettling discovery at a local church, he begins to uncover what
he believes is a bizarre conspiracy linking antique sprinkler systems, eco-terrorism
and anarchist cabals.
The author is an acclaimed filmmaker. He's currently working on his second
novel and lives in Lubbock, Texas.
SAUGUS TO THE SEA (Smart Cookie Press, 2002)
"I spot the problem right away, a half-circle of yellowing grass in a
back corner of the lawn. It's nothing serious. Probably just a clogged sprinkler
head. Probably not worth driving all this way. I grab a spade from the back
of my pick-up and walk to the edge of the lot. The lawn ends abruptly. I stand
there for a second, one foot in green grass, the other foot in the dusty Mojave;
straddling the border line between church picnics and coyote packs; Sunday
school teachers and the slow circling of vultures. I tap around with my shovel
till it hits something with a clang. A brass head. I clear away the grass.
Then I squat down to get a closer look. It's an old head, knicked up pretty
bad from a couple decades of lawn mower blades. It's not like any sprinkler
head I've seen before. It bulges at the top then tapers, and looks sort of
like a streamlined train engine from the Thirties, set on end. I pull up the
riser and clean the nozzle with a pipe cleaner. When I let go, the riser doesn't
snap back into place like they do on plastic sprinkler heads, but sinks slowly
with a barely audible sigh, making an elegant exit from the world of sunlight
and grass. I brush off the knees of my jeans and I knock on the back door
of the church."
Film rights have been optioned by Local Films.
