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Fiction stub: Cannonball.
When Cannonball Jackson first introduced himself to our group, our minds boggled over whether he'd been tagged with that unfortunate moniker by some really mean classmates at his old school, making fun of the guy's obvious weight problem, or if – worse – his parents had just suffered from really crappy taste in baby names.
"It's the latter," he said with a slow shake of his hangdog head. "They were really big jazz fans."
We stared blankly at him.
"You know, Cannonball Adderly."
More blank stares.
Cannonball shook his head again. "It's okay," he said with a shrug. "I'm more of a Creed fan myself."
The blank stares continued, except for Rob, who had ducked his head to hide a "Oh, God no" smile. Slowly, we were beginning to understand this guy. Here was a man with no luck. At all. Or, apparently, taste.
