A Truly American Novel

SINGLE

I

 

The Voyage to the Factory

            Bumbling up and down elongated asphalt warts, curves, and fifth trimester pregnancies of the road in a leaping and sputtering insect-like vehicle was one Edgar E. Weatherholt, a thirty-three-year-old male Caucasian appearing just beyond the abyss of youth (as seen by your run-of-the-mill quantum observer) while a pair of roseate oak-rimmed glasses slid up and down his slightly curving nose.  His eyes and facial hair were earth-brown, with elements of sangria, copper, and Persian Plum staining deeply in the background of less primitive forms.  The left palm outstretched before him presented a long and battered lifeline.  Edgar observed this lacerated landscape suspiciously.  It seemed to be changing.  The pigment was dark salmon above a faint violet aura seeking sanctuary beneath a blue long-sleeved cotton shirt—otherwise, a wild Hyperborean hide moderately tanned from the summer sun, denoting a mysterious Indo-European genetic link, which was rather carelessly, but with a gasping degree of American probability, assumed to be Sarmatian through a possible Romano-British bloodline.  

           Thus begins Gad Factory, a darkly comic novel about three people whose fates are interwoven as they struggle through the harvesting of a mysterious new superfruit.