Ever wonder if our species' development is guided by a greater intelligence? Or if your goofy-looking neighbor is really an alien on an assignment of global scale? How much soul should one be willing to swap for a little comfort? Who wants to trade for a baloney sandwich? Stan Davis ponders this and more throughout his day as a white laborer on an all-black crew in the Deep South. Shoved from the nest at 19, the bright but indolent son of luxury struggles to make his way in a world of country clubs, convenience stores, topless bars and trailer parks. "How to Build a Skydeck" is a pre-Digital Age tale of black and white, rich and poor, pot-smokin aliens, angels and God. Despite the irreverent setting and blue-collar characters, this very human, deeply thoughtful and occasionally sarcastic tale will forever change how you think about the origin and destiny of humankind. Welcome to my first novel, written at night, usually after midnight, while I was employed as a tradeshow and convention installation specialist. Is it a mythologized account of my first blue-collar job and my experiences upon leaving the US Army at the age of twenty? Could be. Then again, every single word of it could be true, and most of it is. Marketing the book was a challenge. Agent after agent told me what a great book it was-- especially, what a great first novel it was--, but they all declined to represent it, for reasons you probably understand, if you've read the thing. If you haven't yet read it, when you do, try to imagine overserious New York literary agents reading it, trying to find within it the next Great Marketable Thing. It will provide an extra level of humor, I promise. I recently had to re-read it while formatting it for the Kindle. I had the chance to make changes, but except for nagging typos, I left it just as I wrote it between '96 and '98. It was a lot of fun getting to know Stan, Rebecca, and the fellas again. The characters are all people I knew, and if you see yourself in one of my books, drop me a line. If I bothered to remember you this long, I might like to hear from you. If you see me in Kroger, say hello. David L. Bradley hails from a good family by way of an extended visit to the wrong side of the tracks. He knows his way around a construction site and considers his time spent there "a necessary evil." He currently lives in Atlanta with his wife, two children, a dog, a cat, and a collection of antique hardcover books, none of which he has never read, saying he collects them for their smell. He enjoys grinding coffee, passing ludicrous judgments, and baking muffins.