me neither. the last few weeks has been one heated, nasty, name-calling, head butting, index finger to the eye, chess game with mr. sandman. if i’m pushed i’ll even throw out a yo mamma…. so far i’m winning the slurs, but i’m losing at...
POP! that was the sound of my front, left tire as i “turned” right into a chevron station yesterday. in my version of this story the curb had spiky, protracting thorns which vehemently besieged my exemplary, mother theresa like, clean-air giving prius. the...
we don’t have many left. these hot, sultry, torpid evenings are starting slip out of our sweaty, open-palmed hands into an always arriving too-early autumn, with her unpermissive bedtime schedules, strict post-labor day fashion tenets, and vanishing,...
