708 Fulton Way…

Copyright Jean L. Hays



708 Fulton Way is no 221 Baker street, but when you are a detective attempting to make his own name and way in the world, you take what you can get, including a small table inside of a local coffee shop. Little did I know that this particular case would turn out to be the one that set me on the path to my own demise. I wasn’t one to turn down a case, starving detective and all, but I should have known better.

And it all started when she walked in the door.



Published by

R. Todd

I'm older than I think I am and younger than I feel. I'm stuck in the 80's but relevant to today (oh I hope that last part is true). I think I am more of an enigma than I really am, but somehow still confound those who try to figure me out (or they just look at me weird, so I infer that). And I really hate my first name. Husband, father, Navy Vet, UCF graduate, cat owner (translate.. slave), wannabe writer, and all around big kid who is stuck in an adult world. Overall, I just... um.. something to something, blah blah blah. And that's all I got to say about that.

9 thoughts on “708 Fulton Way…”

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