This is an excerpt from my novel Blood, Skin, and Ink.

Click on the image for the Kindle version!

This excerpt is a flashback to her squat days, when her and her punk friends are living in an abandoned office building.

FYI: Miranda has told all of her street friends that her name is Elizabeth, because she is on the run from the law and does not want anyone knowing her real name!

     Miranda made her way down the dark hallway.
     Picking up the metal strip, she lightly tapped it against the pipe five times.
     At the end of the hallway, she knocked three times. She stood in place for a minute and then knocked on it again five times.
     She had been there long enough that she had the code memorized.
     It did not take long for Miranda to get used to squat living.
     Every person got a personal spot or space, usually a corner of a room or one section in the main room where they spread out their bed rolls or sleeping bags.
     There was a general area in the squat where people piled extra things, such as extra clothes and food. People also found and brought in other items, such as backpacks, CDs, band patches, pins, and other random items that were up for grabs by squat residents, things that their fellow squatters thought other people might need or want. Thatʼs where Miranda found the sleeping bag she now used, grateful to be able to stay truly warm during cold San Francisco nights.
     A few people were adept at scrounging. At least thatʼs what they called it. Miranda was pretty sure that many “scrounged” items were actually stolen.
     One day a few squat residents showed up with five very large blocks of cheddar cheese, large packages that looked as if they were used in restaurants. Another time one of the baldies showed up with large metal tins full of flat white crackers. Miranda and everyone else were impressed when Sussy and a few of her friends hauled in several cases of canned coffee drinks.
     Then there was the time Shooby, the short and thin shaggy-haired punk who had been living at the squat the longest, brought in a very large cardboard box full of tampons. All of the squat women were surprised and delighted.
     “Holy shit!” exclaimed Sussy. “Weʼll never have to buy tampons again.”
     “Whyʼd you get a giant box of tampons?”
     Shooby shrugged. “I found ʼem. I figured you guys could use them.”
     “Okay,” replied Miranda as she rolled her eyes.
     There was always a flow of beer and liquor in the squat. Random six packs would show up, and on the weekends cases of cheap beer would show up along with bottles of hard liquor. Drinking was, by far, the most popular pastime at the squat.
     As cavalier as the residents could get, there were some strict rules. Residents had to be careful coming in and out of the squat, making sure no one was around when they used the outside entrance. They had to be especially cautious not to let any police officers or any kind of city officials see them coming in and out of the squat.
     Visitors were frowned upon, but were not unheard of. As far as Miranda knew, only Shooby and Sussy were allowed to bring in new residents. If anyone else wanted to bring someone in as a new resident, they had to discuss it with Shooby and Sussy first.
     They were always cautious about lights, more so than loud noise. General lighting was only used deep inside the building, and not near any windows. They usually kept the lights low, leaving the squat dimly lit. On a few occasions they would black out the squat, turning off all of the lights and having everyone sit still and quiet, usually when police cars were rolling nearby. There was an emergency tap that everyone had learned, and it could be banged out against a window or an outer wall, just so long as someone in the squat could hear it.
     Every time Miranda left the squat she took her backpack with her, even though Sussy insisted it would be safe to leave it behind. Miranda would occasionally buy treats for everyone, such as bags of chips or cheap twelve-packs of beer, and claim that she had shoplifted them.
     She did not want anyone in the squat knowing she had money. Not even Sussy.
     Miranda no longer had to remind herself that her name was now Elizabeth as everyone always called her Liz. She still wondered if the police were looking for her. They could be looking for her because she was reported as a runaway, or perhaps her parents had informed the police that she had stolen all of their money.
     They could be looking for her because of what had happened at her high school.
     The boy she hurt.
     Miranda came back with several bags of potato chips just as Birch the Baldy came in with a case of Meisterbrau.
     “Thanks for the chips Liz,” said Birch.
     “Howʼd you rip off so many chips?” asked Laura, the gaunt punk with orange hair.
     “Emergency exit,” said Miranda. “They say theyʼre alarmed but they usually arenʼt. You can just duck out the back.”
     “Whoa. Cool! I never knew that.”
     Sussy had told Miranda that.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

     Miranda carefully cradled her bag of malt liquor. “Go to the park?” she asked sheepishly.
     “Naw. Thereʼs a better place.”
     Miranda did not ask where they were going as Sussy led her down the street. They walked for several blocks along the main street and then turned down a side street, walking through a rough-looking neighborhood.
     They had walked at least ten blocks before Sussy turned to her. “Carlyʼs place is just arounʼ the corner.”
     Sussy led Miranda up to an old house, a two-story house that had a weather-worn staircase leading up to a large porch. The small front yard had a collection of wooden boxes and metal milk crates stuffed with random items. Small colorful signs were in the yard: “Keep Austin Weird”, “Wavy Gravy for President”, one sign that only had the word “Mayonnaise” on it, and another one that read, “Expose yourself to Art,” with a picture of a man flashing a statue.
     Walking up the slim path to the stairs, Miranda realized one of the wooden boxes was a beehive. Bees were zipping in and out of it.
     The porch was crowded with boxes, bags, random pieces of wood, and a few pieces of old furniture. There was a large collection of ceramic plant pots piled into a far corner, most of them full of dirt. A middle-aged woman with wild, curly blonde hair was standing at the top of the stairs with a bottle of beer and a cigarette. She was right next to a young, pale woman with dark flat hair who was sitting in a rocking chair, staring out into the distance.
     The middle-aged woman had a lot of lines in her face, but her bright blue eyes looked as if they could see right through you, even though her eyes had a glazed look about them.
     She was wearing skintight faded blue jeans that showed off her round hips and ample thighs, along with a Fugs shirt and a faded denim vest. She leaned towards the stairs as they approached and sneered at Sussy.
     “Hey Carly,” said Sussy as she trudged up the stairs with Miranda right behind her.
     “What thʼ fuck? Whereʼs thʼ boys at?” grizzled Carly.
     “Ainʼt got no boys today,” said Sussy matter-of-factly. “Just got my bud Elizabeth with me today. You can call her Liz.”
     “Goddamn, this damn house is turninʼ into a fuckinʼ clambake. Iʼm tryinʼ to get a sausage party goinʼ on in here!”
     “Yeah sure you fuckinʼ dirty olʼ woman!” snarked Sussy.
     Carly looked right at Miranda as she stepped onto the porch. “Holy shit, itʼs fuckinʼ Wonder Woman!”
     Miranda looked at her feet as she walked up the stairs.
     “Donʼt hit me!” smiled Carly as she facetiously held up her hands. “Seriously though girl, an Amazon like you can help me toss some of the rowdies.”
     “Liz isnʼt like that,” sneered Sussy. “Lemme help you handle the rowdies.”
     “Youʼre one of the rowdies I was talkinʼ about!” smiled Carly.
     Carly led Sussy and Miranda into the house.
     It took a moment for Mirandaʼs eyes to adjust to the dark living room. Not only was there barely any light, a fog of cigarette and marijuana smoke permeated the room.
     A large coffee table was on the right side of the room. It was covered with beer cans, liquor bottles, and ashtrays. Miranda squinted to make out more details, such as small pipes and lighters
     Three young punks were sitting on a couch next to the coffee table. Around the room were a wide variety of chairs: easy chairs, plain wooden chairs, padded bar stools, and plastic fold out chairs.
     Stepping into the room, Sussy said hello to everyone. The coffee table punks said hello or grunted in response. Sussy guided Miranda to a couple off old padded chairs at the far end of the coffee table.
     As Sussy handed Miranda a bottle, she spotted a few people sitting in some of the dark corners of the room, people she had not noticed when she had first walked in.
     Sussy turned to the people sitting on the couch, one green-haired punk, one punk with bright red hair, and a young man with a mohawk sitting on the end of the couch whose eyes were half closed.
     Sussy leaned into Miranda. “This is Elizabeth. Yes you can call her Liz.”
     “Hey Liz,” greeted the green-haired punk in a wavering voice.
     Carly came in from the kitchen with a can of beer in her hand. “Too many damn bitches in this place. Gotta get some more young guns in here!”
     Carly plopped down in a large and grand easy chair that overlooked the room.
     Miranda gingerly sipped her beer while she looked over the details of the room. There were pieces of artwork everywhere: paintings, small gargoyles, macabre needlepoints, posters, a few show flyers, and all kinds of assorted objects that were hanging from hooks such as bracelets, necklaces, keys, tools, and wild metal decorations.
     Miranda took a long swig off of her forty ouncer. The beer was bitter, but it warmed her skin.
     Miranda had learned to drink from her parents, grabbing a can of beer or a swig off of a bottle now and then, starting when she was a tween. Her parents drank so much they never noticed any missing cans or any reduction in any liquor bottles, no doubt assuming that the other adult had probably taken it, if they had ever even noticed at all. Miranda was surprised when a schoolmate told her they could not take any liquor from her parents’ bottles since they would notice any reduction in the bottleʼs contents right away.
     Carly lit a cigarette and chugged her beer. Miranda looked to her as Sussy chatted with the colorful women. “Iʼve never seen an adult let kids drink and do drugs in their house,” said Miranda.
     Carly held up her hands. “Well, I know you kids are gonna get drunk nʼ get loaded, and Iʼd rather have you doinʼ it here where I can keeps an eye on ya, rather than have ya do it in some park or empty house.”
     “Really?”
     Carly reached into her vest pocket and pulled out a handful of keys. “No drunk drivinʼ tonight!”
     The slim mohawk fell over on his side, slumped over the arm of the couch. Carly walked over and got him to his feet, guiding him with some difficulty to another couch on the other side of the room. She laid him down and walked out of the room, coming back with a blanket that she gently put over him.
     Walking over to a crowded desk, Carly brought out a Polaroid camera. She leaned down and took a picture of the sleeping mohawk. The flash did not make him budge even an inch as the old camera spit out a square picture.
     Miranda had watched the whole thing with fascination.
     “Cost a doinʼ business here Miss Liz,” said Carly. “Young men who pass out here get their picture taken.”
     “You donʼt take pictures of passed out girls?” asked Miranda.
     “Hell no. I donʼt like lookinʼ at girlies.”
     The green haired punk walked over and look down at the mohawk as Carly waved the Polaroid photo around. The green-hair sat down and look over the passed out mohawk.
     “Ooooh, heʼs so pretty,” smiled green hair as she slowly pulled the blanket down and started to slide a hand under his shirt.
     Carly walked back over to the couch while looking at Miranda. “Gettinʼ your pic taken here is part of the rules. I mean, if youʼre a boy who canʼt handle your liquor and dope.” Carly reached down and grabbed green hair by her coat collar, hoisting her away from the couch.
     “Fuck!” gasped green hair as her arms flailed around.
     “Youʼll get it down pretty fast,” said Carly, still looking in Mirandaʼs direction as she dragged the struggling punk across the living room and to the front door.
     “Lemme go you fuckinʼ perv!” gasped the helpless green hair.
     “If youʼre confused about anything,” announced Carly as she opened the front door with one hand while still holding onto the green hair with the other, “just ask Sussy. She knows whatʼs goinʼ down.”
     Carly flung the green haired punk out of the door. She looked down the stairs to the sounds of the flung punk tumbling down the stairs. “Donʼt call me a perv you fuckinʼ sicko. No groping dead drunks! Thatʼs the rule!”
     Carly slammed the door shut and returned to her easy chair. She looked right at Miranda.
     “So, where you hail from?” asked Carly.
     Miranda did not know what to say. Her mind raced as she thought of something to say.
     “I guess… from all over.”
     Carly slowly nodded. “Me, I been here all thʼ time. Iʼve done plenty aʼ travellinʼ, but I always kept my home here.”
     “Always in San Francisco?”
     Carly leaned forward. “I donʼt wanna live anywhere else. I been all arounʼ the country, up nʼ down Canada anʼ Mexico. Bay Area people are different. We shine. Weʼre gold. Weʼre different from everyone else.”
     Miranda took a very long drag off of her forty ouncer.

Blood, skin, and ink is now available
in the Kindle store!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BM6GP85B

Miranda Scholl first appeared in my novel A Long Slow Aftermath. Order your copy of A Long Slow Aftermath here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09T1ZFD6N

Miranda is also a major supporting character in my two book series The Rise and Fall of Skye Wright. Buy the Rise and Fall series here:

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0B3WBDZP2

Click the pic of young Miranda to
see another sneak peek of the very beginning of her novel!