The crowd parted as we slowly and carefully pulled out of the driveway. A guy who looked like a Hell’s Angel banged his fist against the hood of the car, and a woman spat on it as we drove by them.
Ire Land
I Think My Body Into Light (Novel Excerpt, First Chapter)
You jerk your head around to examine the pews. They are empty. You cast a glance to the balcony above the entrance where the organ sits. No one. You swivel back to look at the altar, the side doors you assume lead to the sacristy and rectory. You are alone.
Dead Guy – Editors Pick
I was twenty-four when this all happened. In my late forties, I’d have friends who’d watch their parents die, put kids in ICU, euthanise their cat; you get the last gift of adulthood then, when it, or something like it, happens. You start thinking about people differently.
Not With My Life, You Don’t
He works late into the evening, restoring the shotgun inherited forty-eight years ago from his Uncle Ian. It must be finished before Miles arrives “sometime Saturday, maybe Sunday.” It is typical of Miles’ self-importance that he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, specify a day, the unsubtle implication that his time is precious, Oren’s not.
Farewell Tour, New York; Herby, the Friendly Cactus; Homebound; The Poem that Doesn’t Need to Be Written
He grew up isolated by his optimism, his openhearted determination to promote goodwill, waxing tall, with smooth green limbs that only looked soft, fleshy.
Reading Was the Easy Part,
Reading Was the Easy Part,
less strenuous than inventing imaginary companions for an increasingly disturbed only child with literate parents for models.