A Rob Hunter Reader ~ MP3 Downloads Gallery 7

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It had been, by the saint’s count, a thousand years or more since the last tour passed through—Attila and his Hunnic Horde, their hardy ponies pulling an endless cavalcade of Airstream trailers that stretched to the sunrise. "I'm a martyr," said the saint. "Martyrs don't shoot back." Saint Velcro™ and the Swan
The heart-breaking beauty—the original of the flesh and blood face with the moondrop eyes—resided, a carved and painted sandstone effigy, in the Bureau of Antiquities, the face of an ancient queen. The Sender of Dreams had sent him either a true dream or a false dream. It was for him to find out which. The Queen’s Head
Burreep. Burreep. Dead line noise. Click. A hang-up. Some drunk or a wrong number. Simon rolled over went back to sleep. Burreep. Burreep. Shit. Persistent son-of-a-bitch. The Walking Lesson

"Saint Velcro™ and the Swan"