The drive from the freeway to my home in Palos Verdes was long. Too long. Miles and miles by street.…
“And you’re a cunt,” mumbled the sluggish woman with a frown that made her look half-dead. Two of the mothers…
The author, when not writing, hunts for shadows in the hard light, has conversations with cats, catalogs his library of…
Reducing the holiday spirit and getting philosophical.
The author, when not writing, plays Broadway tunes on her green ukulele, dreams of having penguins as her roommates, and…
The author, when not writing, dreams of having a chicken sanctuary, a sloth as a walking partner, and a refrigerator…
Once upon a time, there was time and the time sat around us and under us and carried us like a…
They come to me. They keep coming to me. Fat ones, skinny ones, mangy ones, silky ones. They curl on…