One-Shot is driving a beat-up Honda Accord with a broken back window on a cross-country trip, heading towards the sunset, praying the car will at least make the initial trip. He hasn't planned how to return if the Accord doesn't hold up -- and that's a great clue for how much One-Shot lives on a daily basis. Heck, check out his supply list from a gas station at the start of his journey: "medicine, Marlboro Reds, a couple of Red Bulls, a twelve pack of Dr. Pepper, a bag of peppered beef jerky, and some Peanut M&Ms." Based on what we find out about One-Shot throughout the story, it's surprising that medicine even made the initial cut. But "medicine" is vague enough that it's open to interpretation. And there are several clues throughout just what that medicine is.

In a story where the title character is on a cross-country trip spending most of his time talking and/or singing to his deceased grandfather, it's surprisingly and tacitly grounded. Sometimes that's not in our favor, as we get experiences like waking up in a car that has a faint odor of piss or wearing very sweaty clothing. Author Jacy Morris has a clear, crisp-yet-gritty and tangible prose style that places the reader in the title character's places, providing an all-too-realistic grounded literary experience. The reader isn't observing from a distance; we're very much sitting on that piss-stained back seat and kicking around some empty Dr. Pepper cans.

It's the strongly-established sense of realism that lead to some true shock at the end of the novella. Without going into spoilers, the plot takes a serious supernatural/horror left turn that seems tacked-on and honestly unnecessary. It's a fascinating event and certainly worth the read, but in the overall context of One-Shot's remembrances, philosophy and actual journey, it comes out of nowhere. Morris had established more than enough story potential and possibilities with the characters and their connections, that the event distracted from the story more than elevating it.

Please don't think I'm harping on supernatural elements, either as a featured plot element or a driving part of this story (no pun intended on "driving" -- honest!). The other, more prevalent supernatural element -- One-Shot's conversations with his grandfather's cremains -- is a vital aspect of the story. Plus, their interactions provide some of the best dialogue. (If this story is adapted into other media, consider "Arnold & The Urn" as an alternate title!)

The other critique for this story is that it honestly doesn't have much to critique -- in a good way AND a bad way. The length of One-Shot is very frustrating. Brevity can be a writer's and reader's boon, but for this novella, it's just consternating. By the time we get to the epilogue (and there are several blank interstitial pages throughout the book), I was hoping there were more epilogues or some kind of swerve where there's more story to be found.

My frustration is admittedly a good thing, as Morris succeeds in hooking us to One-Shot's journeys (physical, emotional, spiritual/metaphysical, etc.). But once that single-page epilogue is done and we are looking at acknowledgements, we aren't ready to leave One-Shot and definitely want to know what happens next.

Here's hoping that the title of this book ends up being ironic....