fiction. nonfiction. poetry. pop flotsam. cultural jetsam.
When you died everyone came hometo fill up the church. We spilled overinto the parking lot. After the servicewe went to Whataburger because it was Sunday.
I walk into the confessional booth.I haven’t been in at least a decade,and, between you and me, I should confess
I’m not entirely sure how this wholething goes anymore. But I hope it’s likeriding a bike—you know, something I thought
Conversations and Connections