I’ve decided to make the OLD DOG downloads available again for the time being. For ninety-nine cents. More, if you’d like, but…that’s a deal, right?
OLD DOG is about two characters. One, a retired prohibition cop whose family was taken from him years ago, and who has been asked to come out of retirement in late 40s/early 50s L.A. He’s a broken man. Just how broken remains to be seen.
The other character is a former aspiring actress who got tired of having to blow studio fatcats for bit parts in shitty movies. She’s a broken woman, and she recognizes other broken people when she sees them. Its an adult story (not because of the “fucks” and the bloodshed, but because the characters are adults dealing with the adult world), and this introduction is the tip of the iceberg.
The story is drawn and colored by the amazing Christopher Mitten, and there are pieces by Tigh Walker and John Lucas included.
If you’d like to read the (twenty-two page) story, which includes a prose piece that serves as a prologue, as well as a Ben Templesmith cover, Paypal at least ninety-nine cents to moore3kids@gmail.com, and I’ll send you a link to PDF, CBR and CBZ downloads. Simple as that.
Have a page:
And have a prose excerpt, in case reading words without pictures is a thing you do:
The grad student he used to fuck. She knew. Of course she knew.
When he was drinking, it didn’t take much to get him to tell the story, and he was always half lit when he was with her. She’d push him on it, trying to convince herself that there was some sacred bruising to his soul that would make sleeping with him more palatable. One of the last nights in her bed, she really pushed. Post-coital conversation. “Was she the love of your life?” she asked, dabbing paint on her toenails.
Exhaling smoke from his Chesterfield, he hadn’t given any thought to brushing the question aside. He knew this affair was on its last legs, and letting her hear what was in his head wouldn’t be something she could use against him down the road. “She was my wife. He was my son. They trusted me to take care of them. But I was so wrapped up in posing for photographs with an axe in my hand that I let my guard down. I let them down. Doesn’t matter if she was the love of my life. I was her husband. I was his father. The only job that really mattered was to protect and provide, and I failed at both.”
Have the cover image, too:
All of this will appear in the BAD KARMA VOLUME ONE hardcover, which will be out shortly.
Thanks.
B. Clay Moore 