Whatever Happened To Al Bruno III?

2026-01-10T09:05:00.005-05:00

First off, I want to tell you I’m alright and doing fine. My wife Sherri and I are happy, and my wonderful daughter has come back to live with us for a while. There is nothing that tests the bonds of a family quite like three people sharing a single bathroom.

You may be wondering: where are the stories? Where is the podcast?

Truth be told, I’ve found myself in a place where I’m spending less time in my office writing stories and more time going out—listening to live music, doing karaoke, and having adventures instead of writing about them.

I admit I sometimes miss telling tales for the Night Blogger and random Booger Monsters From Outer Space, but I’m 58 years old now and I’ve been obsessively spinning stories for four decades. That’s a long time to live in your head.

I think I’m just in a different season of my life for now—but I can’t imagine I won’t be back someday.

In the meantime, I’ll keep this page up for you to enjoy. The podcast will probably be going dormant soon, but again, I can’t imagine I won’t be getting back into the game eventually.

Your reading and comments have gotten me through some dark days, and for that I am deeply grateful to all of you.

A Love Poem For My Wife

2026-01-10T08:41:00.004-05:00

BRAD'S ORACLES: Chapter Four

2025-06-05T06:35:00.013-04:00

← Back to Chapter Two

Al Bruno III

"And then what?"

Lake Wales High School was shaped like an E; the top and bottom ends of the E were the auditorium and the gymnasium, and the middle was the cafeteria.

"And then I ran," Thelma explained. An entire weekend had passed since her bizarre encounter with Brad Waterman, and those 48 hours had helped diminish the worst memories. Those girls she had met had left her feeling uneasy and curious. And those men she had glimpsed? Those faces she had seen? It must have been a trick of the light, Thelma thought.

"You ran?" Samantha Reid asked. She was a heavy girl with frosted blonde hair and an easy smile, "Just when it was getting good."

A short boy with dark eyes and too-long hair nodded, "I bike by that house every day while I'm doing my paper route."

"Maybe you should see if they want a subscription Peanut," Samantha said.

"Maybe I'm afraid to," Peanut's real name was Steve Cross, but he had always been shorter than the other kids, and since the seventh grade, everyone from teachers to students had taken to calling him Peanut. "Although the tips might be memorable."

The three of them had been sitting together at lunch since last spring after the popular girls' catty remarks and conspiratorial whispers had driven Thelma away from the more upwardly mobile tables.

"Look," Thelma said, "I don't know who those guys were or what was going on there, but you can count me out."

"They were probably all college kids getting high." Samantha mused, "College boys always have the best weed."

"Oh really?" Thelma said. When Samantha said something like that, Thelma could never be sure if she was being truthful. All Thelma really did know was that since September, Samantha had run away from home twice and had one pregnancy scare.

"Really," Samantha said, "and if you ask me, you just read too much into the whole thing. If this Brad dude is sitting on a nice fat lawsuit check, he sure as hell will have a bunch of girls at his beck and call. The two biggest aphrodisiacs in the world are washboard abs and a personal fortune."

Peanut sighed sadly, "I am so screwed when I get to college."

"Poor Peanut." Thelma said, "I should have taken you to the dance."

"Oh sure, and I'll just pencil in regular beatings from Winston from now until the end of time."

Samantha waved her hand, "Oh, he's too busy with his new girl. Any regrets there, Thelma? I mean, that was a pretty good set of abs you left behind there."

"Robin can keep those abs," Thelma said, "I've got better things to do with my time."

The routine of school and home was broken up on Wednesday nights and Saturday afternoons by flipping burgers. It wasn't the best job in the world, but it got her out of the house and earned her a little spending cash. On the days when the manager was there, the job was bearable, mostly because he spent most of the shift in his office drinking. Unfortunately, this Wednesday night wasn't one of those shifts; the assistant manager, Blanche Costello, was in charge, and she was a bear.

If someone had told her about Blanche, Thelma would have rolled her eyes at the obvious exaggerations, but truth was unfortunately more irritating than fiction. Blanche was skinny, with over-permed hair, over-tanned skin, and a prodigious nose. She reminded Thelma of nothing more than a cartoon buzzard. Thelma also learned quickly that the only thing Blanche hated more than her life was the teenagers she had been in charge of. When Blanche held court, the employees were not allowed to talk to each other while on the clock, breaks were skipped whenever possible, and lunches were grudgingly granted late in the shift.

Sixth months of working at Burger Clown had taught Thelma not to cross the woman, but there was a history quiz on Thursday morning, and she really wanted that fifteen-minute break for studying. Fifteen minutes in a four-hour shift, was that so much to ask?

Clearly it was. The request had sent Blanche screeching, and the next thing Thelma knew, she was outside searching the parking lot for trash and dog poop.

Burger Clown was one of the three businesses on the road that led to Eagle Ridge Mall. And it was the only one that hadn't gone under. Grumbling to herself, Thelma walked the circumference of the Burger Clown parking lot, a dustpan in one hand, a ratty broom in the other. Cars sped by, filling the air with exhaust.

Well, it could be worse. Thelma tried to tell herself as she walked around the parking lot. On Saturday, she made two of the college guys climb onto the dumpster to jump up and down on the garbage so it wouldn't have to be emptied for a few more days.

Thelma gagged a little at the memory of the smell those boys brought back with them.

I'll just get to school early and study in homeroom. Thelma decided as she walked along the rear of the parking lot, picking up wadded paper cups and napkins. Thelma went to work at a particularly hardened piece of gum and then just gave up and sat down on the curb. She stared sullenly across the parking lot to the abandoned gas station.

I should just quit. I bet Samantha could get me a job working with her at the Fashion Bug, or heck maybe Peanut could get me a paper route. Anything but this, anything…

A black pickup truck pulled into the parking lot of the empty service station. Thelma sat up; she had heard from one of her co-workers that hookers took their johns to the back of the building to turn tricks.

Turn tricks. Thelma mused at the turn of phrase. There were so many metaphors for that one thing, and it seemed that between high school and work, she had heard just about all of them. Meanwhile, Mom and Dad still haven't had 'The Talk' with me yet.

The truck's engine idled, and the headlights shifted from low to high beams. Thelma waited, wondering what she would see, wondering what she wanted to see.

She certainly didn't expect to see Brad get out of the truck. The very sight of him sent competing shudders of fear and excitement along her spine. Brad walked to the passenger side and pulled out a bulky shape wrapped in a dark dropcloth. He hefted it and brought it over to the gas station's side entrance; the door swung open with a nudge of his hip.

He half-dragged and carried the shape into the building. The door swung to a close behind him. Thelma held her breath, expecting him to come right back out again, but he stayed in there.

What's he doing? She wondered.

Thelma thought again of the girl on the mattress and the men kneeling over her. She thought of their faces; you didn't see faces like that anymore- there were surgeries and cures.

Lights flashed in the abandoned gas station, brief eruptions of emerald-tinged illumination that filled the building's dark windows and faded away. It was as though Brad were striking a flint or playing with firecrackers. Thelma wondered if she could get closer without being discovered. She stood, leaving the dustpan behind but keeping the broom in case she needed a weapon.

Thelma made it halfway across the parking lot before Blanche Costello caught sight of her and started yelling for her to get back inside and start manning the fry station.

Next: Chapter Five →

The Wit And Weirdness Of Al Bruno III

Whatever Happened To Al Bruno III?

A Love Poem For My Wife

BRAD'S ORACLES: Chapter Four