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What Would Boricio Do?  

Boricio Wolfe has been Sterling & Stone’s most popular character ever since he was the star of our one and only series. 

The man is vile in every conceivable way, and yet the character has still earned reviews like, I’m a 74-year old feminist and I just LOVE BORICIO!!! 

I’ve received more emails about Boricio than every other character I’ve ever written, added together and multiplied times four. 

Working on Boricio is unique to anything else I create. Writing is daily exercise, so I can create consistent quality simply by showing up at this point. But Boricio demands an extraordinary state of creative flow. Anything less, and the prose becomes beer-battered bullshit. But when I’m fully immersed, I’m creating a vortex of words and ideas that crackle with danger.

Dave and I had divided our writing duties for Yesterday’s Gone’s pilot episode. The only story meeting we had ahead of each penning our parts — before the project even had a name — was spent on deciding to go for it. We agreed on one thing, and used that as our compass: the world is empty except for our characters, and no one knows why. 

We each got three characters. I cheated and used a few neighbors to get away with a group for one of mine, then stole a trope from Stephen King for character number two — a vaguely magical boy — and added a serial killer, because Dexter

Boricio was born the moment his feet hit the hardwood floor in that first paragraph of his introductory chapter. I wrote the words beer-battered bullshit and instantly had a proper sketch of who this guy was, and the pentameter in which the killer constructed his thoughts. 

The vaguely magical boy was loosely-based on Ethan, and Boricio’s name came from one of his kindergarten classmates. The kid was actually named Mauricio, but Ethan heard it differently and insisted on his version, because he was five. I thought Ethan’s version was rad, and considered it perfect for the pilot’s serial killer. 

Dave figured Boricio would be gone by the end of our first season. The big bad would have to go bye-bye for sure. But the character had a mind of his own, and once we saw the reviews and started getting the emails, from lovers and haters alike, we agreed (to my grand delight) that Boricio was core to our story. 

Like the antiheroes I’m drawn to on television — Tony Soprano, Walter White, Donald Draper, Omar Little, Nucky Thompson, you get the picture — Boricio embodies a similarly-dark complexity with nuanced layers that ripple throughout the Yesterday’s Gone series, the sequel series Tomorrow’s Gone, and six short stories, starting with this one. 

Lottie says that Boricio is my Slim Shady, and she’s totally right. All id is crazy fun to write. We even had a Twitter account, once upon a time: @boriciowolfe

Someday I’ll get to the long-awaited return of the fan favorite with his next serialized adventure, Boricio’s Gone

Boricio is a killer chef, but I didn’t know that until writing this first short, in between seasons one and two of Yesterday’s Gone. His lore got added to with every new story, but for now I hope you enjoy his initial solo outing. 

You can start reading What Would Boricio Do below, with the full short story (no email required) available for download below the excerpt.

Boricio sat in the middle stall of Roscoe’s bathroom, backing out the brown Buick and taking a well-deserved break. Roscoe’s bathroom was nice, and never smelled like shit and ass water — like the bathrooms in most of the restaurants Boricio had cooked in during the last decade or so, spent hop-scotching across the country.
This bathroom had three Tahitian vanilla candles burning, two on each side of the sink, and another in the goddamn middle, filling the room with a sweet, sugary, artificial scent, instead of the true blue of trouser-chili brown.

Boricio turned toward the off-white tiled wall and flushed, lifting his ass from the seat so he could pull up his pants, but also because he wanted to admire the size of his pile. He grinned at the mountain of Mr. Hankey, quietly congratulated himself, then sat back on the pot to kick it for a few more minutes No reason to end his break any earlier than needed. Work had been a bitch-and-three-quarters for three months straight, and Boricio had been out late as fuck the night before, having to unexpectedly bury two goddamned bodies after his double date got a bit out of hand.
Boricio didn’t mind working 12-hour shifts, and Len, the dicktip fucktard who ran Roscoe’s, didn’t mind him working them, so long as it was cool with Mr. Jules, the dude who owned the restaurant, which it was. Since Boricio worked the longer shift, he got longer breaks, though he was smart enough to cash them in when no one would’ve given two squirts of piss about it.

Like every other job Boricio had ever had, this one paid him under the table. And though he didn’t collect a check, he had to keep Mr. Jules’ books surgeon-scalpel-squeaky clean. That meant clocking in for two different shifts under two different names — Bruce Dapples and Percy Shute.
Boricio had gone from job to job since he was old enough to flip the finger and not get a slap for the slander. Aliases had helped him stay invisible, which was a porn star’s cock’s worth of hard to do, since Boricio had a tendency to draw all sorts of unwanted attention from Johnny Law.
Being a cook made getting a gig in just about any city in America enchilada-easy. But about two years back, Boricio landed in Napa for three months, where he’d worked in a place called Capozzoli’s, and cooked with ingredients he’d never used, tasted, or even heard of before. Something inside Boricio was born.

Download What Would Boricio Do? (for free).