A short story by John McManus.
I first met Max on my way home from the Gulp, a bottomless whirlpool in the Everglades where people go to commit suicide. This was in 2005. You have to hike six miles along a blackwater canal dug by Andrew Jackson’s slaves, to a remote lake where you wade out until you’re sucked under to drown. Your body turns up in the Intracoastal Waterway. I don’t know the physics of it.
I guess I usually begin with a situation, maybe a “what if” question. In “Blood Brothers” it was “what if these meth heads in East Tennessee got their hands on Grindr?” That was back when the Grindr app had first come out, like spring or summer of 2009. I immediately wondered what the people I went to high school with in rural East Tennessee would make of it.