Bits & Bytes

By Doug Hile

Second book follows the wildly successful debut of Riffs & Rhymes, from emerging author Doug Hile. Bits & Bytes is full of thought provoking essays, short stories and verse in an eclectic collection, sure to resonate with every reader.
Burt Rozen, The Burt Rozen Show

Delightful, Insightful, Personable! A refreshing look at life and relationships by a new voice on the publishing scene.
Lena Trezylewskchzehki, agent - Zip Publishing

Thoroughly engaging. I could not put it down!
Max Bantha, Provo Star Sentinel

Another facet of my friend and colleague, I had no idea existed, but I am happy to discover.
Gerald Satanni, Rasta Electronics

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984573995

Doug Hile

One of the few natives of the area, Doug Hile was born in Washington D.C. and remained in Maryland most of his life. He has led a rich and varied existence; has been to Europe with the US Navy, and now resides on his ranch in Southern Maryland. He is a movie and music buff, enjoys live Rock 'n Roll , Guinness, and the local craft breweries. This is his second book. He hopes you enjoy reading as much as he enjoyed writing it.

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 by Doug Hile.

ISBN:              Softcover              978-1-9845-7400-8

                        eBook                   978-1-9845-7399-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 01/14/2019

Xlibris

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789599

CONTENTS

Preface

OBSERVATIONS

Comprehension

Well … Crap…

First Five Years

One Thing Leads To Another

A Brief History

Letter to a Luddite.

Communication

Infernal Device

Demon

Ode To Coffee

Diners

Used to be Spinnakers

Sleep

Dream

Dream II

Dream III

Happenings

Happenings II

Happenings III

Happenings IV

Messy

Football

Radio

Plan

Birthday

Ships Passing In The Night

Location… Location… Location…

OBSERVATIONS II - SEASONS

Rambling

Magick

The Fourth

Fourth Of July

Memorial Day

Autumn Leaves

The Webs of September

Fall 11-2-016

OBSERVATIONS III - CRITTERS

0124

Foster Dog

Squirrel

Blackie

Blackie II

Blackie III

Seamus

Turtle

Turtles

Turtles II

Dragon Flies

VERSE

Observer

You are One

Buttercups

Spuds

Black

0315

Rain

Rain II

Pillow

Mornings

Real

So Real

Special

Gray Day

Spark

Survivors

The Path

Ever

Luna

Drift

All

Ono

Broken

Departure

Woods

Woods II

The Fall Woods

Listening

Speck

Song

STORIES

A Story

Transition

Collections

Ricky

Corridors

Chute

Duke and Dry Creek

Monkey Runes

Carl

Rizzo

The Collection

How About That?

Above The Fold

- 30 -

About the Author

Preface

I’m not fond of sequels, prequels, or serials, and, while this book may look somewhat like its’ predecessor, it is a stand-alone work in its’ own right.

It has reached a level of completeness, went through the birthing process, and now finds itself in your hands.

I hope you will enjoy it. Your comments are always welcome.

DRH

[e-mail]

For

Elisavietta

Observations

C omprehension

I would have thought, by the time I had accumulated seventy or so birthdays, there should be some level of knowledge attained. There are many things that I still do not understand; some, in truth, baffle me.

Preference for Patriarchal vs Matriarchal coloring, in matters of religion, family linage, et al.

Why there is a disconnect between what is written vs spoken?

Why are prototypes usually better than subsequent improvements?

Why does the level of Common Sense and the average IQ seem to be decreasing, when it should be Increasing?

Daylight savings time.

Stilettos, and high heels in general.

In my twenties, I thought I knew everything.

Now I find I don’t know anything at all.

It’s not an original thought.

W ell … Crap…

Out, Out brief candle! … bull SHIT!

Rage against the dying of the light!

What the hell happened?

I was okay,,, then,„

Bam~!

now I’m an Old Fuck.

My friends are Old Fucks.

My favorite musicians are Old Fucks,

or dead, except for Keith Richards.

Why didn’t anyone tell me?

The ONLY thing the Old Man ever said about it, was

Son, you will be Old, a lot longer than you are Young.

If that’s true, I will live see my 142th birthday, at least,,,

OR,,,

he was wrong about that, too.

Geddy Lee was the only one who got it right.

We are only immortal, for a limited time.

Time does pass so quickly, you will be astounded.

Make your Best Choices, wherever you are on the curve,

Make sure the kids know, this might be,,, the -

One True Fact Of Life.

F irst Five Years

Some of my earliest memories still remaining, are of the house at 241 15th Street, SE, D.C.

It was a row house, like thousands of others in DC in 1945 to 1950 before my parents moved to Capitol Heights.

Year One

I remember a Dalmatian puppy, who grew quickly, and me hanging around his neck with my feet dangling.

Waking in my crib in the middle of the night. Top rail was still above my head and it was located in the rear room of the first floor for some unknown reason. I was not uncomfortable, just awake and standing up, looking through the vertical uprights. I could see through the dining room and into the front room, although there were no lights and nothing to actually look at but darkness, which seemed to roil and twist like smoke.

More fascinating than frightening.

Watched for a while, before returning to sleep.

Year Two

A gold fish in a round fishbowl with flat sides. Changing his water with Mom, feeding him, and his ultimate demise, months, maybe years later.

Two Old Maids lived next door, and I would pull a couple stalks of parsley from their herb garden through the backyard fence occasionally. Tasted good. They didn’t mind.

Emmy and Daisy had a fascinating Christmas tree with delicate glass ornaments, bubble lights, and intricate houses in the village beneath. I would stare at every tiny detail, marveling at the miniatures.

They gave me many presents, some of which I have in my office right now; a tin Roller Coaster and a Ferris Wheel. Never had the Merry Go Round.

A plastic dart gun. Kid sized version of a Colt 1911.

The darts were shoved down the muzzle, compressing a spring, until the mushroomed end engaged a hook. The other end was a rubber cup. I took great delight in shooting at the metal fireplace, producing a cymbal-like clang when it stuck.

Emmy would make Rice Fritters. Yum~!~!

Daisy had a piano that would produce thunder if I rolled the bottom-most left side keys, and held them.

Year Three

Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins were on the other side of Emmy and Daisy. He would come over and help the Old Man with stuff from time to time, and we would go over to his place to help him. He was Old, even then, and every time I hear Walter Brennans’ song about Old Rivers,

I think about Mr. Hawkins.

The Servel refrigerator. Soft blue glow of the temperature control inside when the door opened, gave me a happy feeling just looking at it.

Parents rented a room to another couple on the second floor.

She was a beautician and was doing Mom’s hair.

I was being a nosey brat, looking around at everything, opening drawers, since it was Moms’ furniture anyway.

Bottom right hand drawer contained a Luger and a box of shells, and I made some remark of discovery. The lady said something to the effect that Little People should not see SOME things, and gently closed the drawer again. No fuss, no muss,, but they moved soon after. No more rentals.

I had my own cowboy outfit and cap guns. There was a picture of me wearing them, taken on a pony.

The same picture as an infinite number of kids, and an infinite number of ponies.

Once, playing outside in the tiny patch of front yard by myself, for some unknown reason, I left my cap guns on the front steps, to go in and get a drink of water. They were gone, of course, by the time I came back outside. Perhaps the cap guns, the dart guns, and the Luger were the beginnings of my preoccupation with firearms.

I played in the water rushing down the curb when it rained. It was warm, clean, and felt nice running around me, laying in it. Never knew where it went, flowing past the front of the house.

Year Four

Garage, on the alley side of the narrow backyard, held the Old Mans’ ’36 Chevy. We were changing a fan belt and something slipped, making a long, deep gash in the palm of his hand.

There was a lot of blood, but nothing more of that recollection survives.

Little blue tricycle, a brown two wheeler with training wheels, along with a little red wagon and a scooter, were also in that garage. I would ride them in the alley, with the black kids. Eddie was my friend and there were never any problems or crap. We were ALL just kids.

Across the alley was Colliflower Trucking. I never went that far in my explorations, but one night, one of the truck horns shorted, and it was producing an eerie wail that frightened me. I sat in Moms’ lap, while the Old Man went over to investigate. It stopped and he returned with no explanation.

On the left