Footsteps. The sound of someone walking toward me. I don’t look up. They stop. I feel them near me. I feel them looking down at me. I wait but they don’t speak. I wait to be nudged, told to move.… more
Footsteps. The sound of someone walking toward me. I don’t look up. They stop. I feel them near me. I feel them looking down at me. I wait but they don’t speak. I wait to be nudged, told to move.… more
I didn’t hear the backyard gate open or a greeting, if there was a greeting, until the stranger’s head was right next to mine, one eye closed. I smelled beer. “Well, looks like you’ve got yourself quite a project here.”… more
Marty dives under the water and pulls her by the ankle back into the pool. Mabel struggles to get away. They are flipping and flapping, spraying water everywhere. The lifeguard thinks how much these two look like the fish his uncle catches when they go out on his boat on Sundays.… more
In the woods lives your exhales and resting peace. Selfcare is an oak leaf. Thoreau was a phony. You’ll never work in television.… more
What I didn’t say: that I remembered being sixteen, drinking until I vomited into the gutter, taking pills and swinging from the rafters below a Denny’s while my parents thought I was at a friends’ house.… more
Maybe I was a little maníaco because I only thought about sex during our all-male camping trips in Puerto Peñasco every Easter vacation, beginning when I was twelve. Dad would load up his white work van with a bevy of motorcycles and minibikes and enough food, beer, and soda to last a bunch of fathers and sons an entire week.… more
Jesus Christ, he’d say, throwing his head back. The eyes, he said. Ya had to bring the eyes back. Eyes are what make a guy, ya know? Jesus Christ almighty.… more
It was just sitting there in plain view, exposed, vulnerable. There was nothing appealing about that bland, clear plastic handle and worn white bristles.… more
In which we remember Chuck Kinder with madcap glee. Hey Honeymooners!… more