![]() ![]() ![]() It didn’t matter that he’d been clean for six months, or that his case worker gave him nothing but outstanding marks. It didn’t matter that Jon worked his ass off, or that he was the most reliable guy on the staff. His boss, Lannie the dick, was set in his ways, and nothing short of Mother Teresa coming out of … retirement … would make him give one of those machines to a guy like Jon, who Lannie saw as a complete loser and a massive drain on society. The van was not one of the new units, not one with a super-clean engine and padded seats, or that didn’t rattle your spine every time you hit the goddamned accelerator. The piece of shit delivery van shuddered as Jon pulled to the curb in front of the Oglethorpe Club, a three-story building at the corner of Gaston and Bull. It was August and sunny, which, in Savannah, means humidity only slightly more comfortable than having a swampy towel jammed down your throat. ![]() Skybox Publishing Logoįor the downtrodden, the dark, and the untethered The Delivery This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All incidents, dialog, and characters are products of the author’s imagination. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. ![]()
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