"Stan," I said, and I said it kind of loud so of course he had to look up. "Tomorrow morning. 8:37. The red van with the out-of-state plates? You go head to head. You lose. You die."

After freakishly foretelling the death of a friend, Luke Hunter becomes big news in Stokum, his rank little pinprick of a hometown. Terrified, but pretending not to be, Luke holds everyone—the local media, his buddy Fang, the Polish widow next door—at arm's length as he lurches through a personal minefield studded with previously unconsidered existential ponderings, Christian fundamentalists, a missing teen's frantic mother, and a dream girl who isn't his.

Hormonal and funny, exhilarating and wise, Anthem of a Reluctant Prophet slyly explores the need to belong, the isolation of youth, and the powerful brew of fear and truth, music and noise, that plays inside us all.

Free samples for the taking:
Excerpt from Chapter 1
Excerpt from Chapter 2

The Stokum Crew

	Luke Hunter. Asshole. Luke Hunter. God. Luke Hunter. Prophet of Death. What can I say? It’s a weird life.
	Todd Delaney aka Fang. Tag courtesy of a couple gigantic crushers—contained in the shot. Peaks: Ripped, torn, no fear of heights, inhabitant of an unsupervised basement. Valleys: Got a couple hours?
	Dwight Slater. Small-town, small-time dealer. Tries to kick my ass every now and again. Yeah right. Good luck.
	Stan the man Miller. The guy every dude wishes they could be. Except he’s dead, and I gave a play-by-play on the cream scene that claimed him before it ever happened. Which is sort of how this whole mess got started.
	Warning: Hot to the touch, cool to the bone. Drawbacks: Even though he’s dead, she belongs to Stan.
	Joanne Proulx. Writer. She hacked my run-on sentences in two, but had a light touch when it came to censoring the meaty bits. I couldn’t have done it without her. No seriously, I couldn’t. (Note from author: He needed me, man. He needed me, bad.)