Shooting Limpkins - Ginsburg, Ricky
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The man dropped his chin to his chest and whispered, "Yes, it's Nina. It's my wife." The tears came a few minutes later. Almost as though he had been meditating. Not sobs, but the refined tears of a wealthy man who was trying to decide who to call first-his lawyer or hers. His eyes were dripping cold tears into a bucket of ice and nothing was melting. "I'm sorry for your loss, sir." I reached out and touched his shoulder. You cold bastard. Tino came around the chairs and was about to say something, when a shout from one of the cops came from behind the Ferrari. "Gun!"

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Produktbeschreibung
The man dropped his chin to his chest and whispered, "Yes, it's Nina. It's my wife." The tears came a few minutes later. Almost as though he had been meditating. Not sobs, but the refined tears of a wealthy man who was trying to decide who to call first-his lawyer or hers. His eyes were dripping cold tears into a bucket of ice and nothing was melting. "I'm sorry for your loss, sir." I reached out and touched his shoulder. You cold bastard. Tino came around the chairs and was about to say something, when a shout from one of the cops came from behind the Ferrari. "Gun!"
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Autorenporträt
Ricky Ginsburg is one of those storytellers who sees a flock of birds heading South for the winter and wonders what they talk about on their journey. Most of his available brain storage is full of untold tales. While much of his writing has elements of magical realism and humor, he also has a serious side, but keeps it in a small plexiglass box under his desk.