“It is good people who make good places.”
The first few weeks of December always make me think of my great aunt Georgie.
I have no real memories of Grammy, her sister. Everything I do know about Grammy comes from scraps Grampy would tell me. » Read more
It’s a late night in August. Over the day, the house warms like the world’s laziest oven, a slow cooker. Our HVAC is slowly but surely giving up the ghost. At night, we cling together in the bedroom, however many BTUs shooting out of the window unit like pillars of ice melting instantly when they hit our skin. » Read more
“Page, you stupid fucking whore, I love you, cut it out!” J yelled at me.
I was sinking into the grass, full of innumerable shots. “No, leave me alone, I’m going to stay out here until I freeze.” At least that’s what I meant to say. I’m sure it was slurred, smeared, obscured somehow. » Read more
Monster was a good kitty.
He was ancient, nearly 20, although like many cats, his appearance didn’t betray his age. Had I found him on the street, I would have thought he seemed 10 or so. The legend is that Monster started his life as a kitten hiding in a hot tub enclosure, » Read more