I know this may sound Golden Girlish, but recently I have re-found that nothing is better than reading a good book. Work has been crazy for the past month and I find myself relaxing by getting stressed out over what is happening in my current read. From The Road to my first of 52 short stories, Man from the South (by “Mr. Willy Wonka” Roald Dahl,) I get swallowed up by the suspense and love every second of it.
Sitting poolside in Jamaica, a writer, a gambler and a young American are vacationing. The swarthy gambler challenges the American to a bet: if his Zippo lights ten times in a row the man collects the gambler's Cadillac. But if it fails just once, the gambler will keep the man's pinky finger as a trophy.
If the story sound familiar, it has been transformed onto TV and movies three times, notably by Hitchcock, as well as Tarantino in Four Rooms. Just like any story, nothing can compare to the original. The beginning offers imagery that makes you want to be right next to writer having a cold beer in the hot sun. Not until the immaculately dressed gambler is introduced did my tranquil state turn over to anxiety in anticipation of the very last paragraph.
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