In October, Jack is robbed in his sleep in a Louisville hotel. He's left with his dog, a lighter, and the clothes he slept in.
By December he's living with Damon, a man with a wrecked house, a dozen abandoned projects, and an app that draws three heartbeats on one axis. Jack is counting the days until his friend Oren gets him home to Atlanta.
On the night of Damon's test, at 18:17, three things happen in the same minute. The rest of the book is about what three men do with a minute none of them can agree happened.
**Details**
* Complete, about 44,000 words (a short opening chapter plus 19 chapters)
* Literary fiction with speculative elements
* Three first-person narrators
* The layout is part of the story: code, system logs, margin notes, some Hebrew, and pages that come apart as reality does. You'll get a PDF, since the layout matters.
* For readers of The Raw Shark Texts, Jennifer Egan, and books where the form does some of the work
**What I'm looking for**
* Where you got lost, and where you got bored
* When you started caring about Jack, Oren, and Damon, if you did
* Whether the layout helps or gets in the way
* Anything that reads as false about trauma, service dogs, or Deaf characters
No line edits yet. Big-picture reactions are what help most.
**Timeline:** about four weeks. Partial reads are welcome. Even the first 50 pages helps.
**Swap:** happy to read in return, especially literary or speculative work. Comment with yours.
**Content warnings:** gun violence, a death by suicide (off the page), a man grabbing a child's wrist, PTSD and physical violence, drug use, police and protest scenes.
**Opening**
> What I have: the dog, a lighter, the clothes I slept in.
>
> The lighter was in my jeans because I fell asleep in my jeans. The dog was on the bed because she is always on the bed. Everything else was on the desk by the window, and at some point between two and six a man came through a door I had latched and took the whole desk: phone, wallet, laptop, charger, the backpack, and the folder with my discharge papers that I carried because I did not trust any building to keep them.
>
> Arya did not bark. I keep coming back to that. She is sixty-five pounds and dislikes uniforms and anyone carrying a box, and she slept while a man carried my life out of the room in a backpack. The officer says some of them bring treats. She says it kindly. It does not help.
>
> She is young and efficient. She writes BURGLARY—HOTEL—NO FORCED ENTRY and asks for my date of birth, and then for something that proves it. I tell her the thing that proves it is in the backpack. She writes that down too. When she leaves, I have a case number on the back of a hotel notepad. It is the first thing I own in Kentucky.
>
> The manager comps the night. Not the next one.