My Wholly Heartbreaking Heretic

Danielle Peterson

Copyright 2012 by Danielle Peterson

Smashwords Edition

Chapter One

“You ever spent time in the South? You sound like you have,” said my elderly client. I seem to remember that his name began with an R. Ronald? Let’s go with that.

I murmured an affirmative, although I was far too preoccupied with easing the vacuum tube out of his television to elaborate any further. Yes, I, Young Master Toupinier, (disinherited)heir to one of the largest sugar plantation in the American South, reader of law, and immortal, spent several years in the late 1960s and early 1970’s repairing televisions. What can I say? I grew weary of law, and of mill ownership, and of law again, and then…oh, lots of things. Dozens of lifetimes of occupations and jobs and careers. I even plied my expertise with the human viscera as a surgeon. It all becomes so awfully tedious after a while.

But one of the few pinpoints of felicity in my long summer has been the steady advancement of technology. I am “that guy”, the one who religiously buys every iteration of the iPod and the PlayStation-hell, I’ve even bought a Zune or two. My fascination with said devices was sparked back when records were still made of shellac and could be broken like plates. I learned how to repair televisions after Ma Bichette and I split up in 1966 (I recall that I saw The Naked Prey at the cinema the day after she left) citing that she was “tired of looking at your melancholy face everyday for the past twenty-five years, Rémi, I just need a change.” Don’t cry for me, however, as I was just about fed up with her nonsense as well.

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