While Maxwell slept, his nemesis, the holy click beetle was on the move. Banging his head on the concrete sidewalk in front of the Snapjaw residence, in Morse code, he tapped out the message, “Satan’s spawn lives here.” While the angelic insect would be the first to admit that it sounded a bit melodramatic, desperate times called for desperate measures. At least that’s what he told himself.
“How dare that son-of-a-bitch sleep, while the world is falling apart, and largely because of his own efforts!” Said click beetle out loud to nobody in particular.
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Published by Russell Smith
I was born at the American Hospital in Neuilly-sur-Seine, France. I find inspiration in the lives of so many people from Joan of Arc to Oscar Wilde. While my primary avocation is photography, I also enjoy philosophy, theology and most of all, history. My beloved wife, Robin Anne Smith, who passed away in 2013 is an inspiration to me. My beloved partner, Dana is also a great support and inspiration to me. I'd be remiss if I did not mention my cats: Maxwell, Nigel, Pirouette and GarGar.
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