David E. Fisher

Biographical details

David E. Fisher East in the Morning

He had had Bucephalus for the past hundred and fifty years.
"Now what justification does a cat have for living forever?" he wondered aloud, holding her at arm's length and smiling at her. She lifted one paw and dabbed at his face. He put her down and went to get her milk. "And how did we ever find each other?" Perhaps there was some subliminal way of knowing. Perhaps, without knowing, the immortals knew.
While Bucephalus lapped at her milk, Henry Talbot walked out for a breath of air.
Source: Gutenberg

David E. Fisher You Don't Make Wine Like the Greeks Did

So quietly he hardly realized what he was doing, but thankful that the gas pain had vanished, Victor stepped between the gun and the girl. "You'll have to kill me, Donald," he said. "You won't take her out of here without killing me, I promise you that, and what will that do to your future? A man from the future killing somebody here? Oh, no, that'll upset everything. And before I've become famous? Your whole history will be changed. You'd better think twice, Donald."
The gun wavered, and lowered.
"Would you care for a martini, Donald, dear?" Mimi asked.
Source: Gutenberg

David E. Fisher You Don't Make Wine Like the Greeks Did

Fairfield's lips would twitch as he twisted the wheel and shot into the left lane. His foot pressed down on the gas and the right corner of his lip pulled back in sneering response, the sudden surge of the Buick seemed intimately linked to one muscular act no more than to the other. His eyebrows pressed intensely together, caressing one another, as the big car whipped back into line. A sharp outlet of breath between tightly clenched teeth preceded the sharper blast of the horn and then the Buick was swerving out to the left again with the accompanying lip twitch.
Source: Gutenberg

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