There she sits, the wayward recessive one, burning the combustibles at both ends, her flaming red hair atop the cigarette she smokes on break, blowing away the risk of emphysema or worse, taking all the chances she can take in ten minutes before or after lunch. What the hell? Who’s going to stop her? More…
“You son of a bitch.” That’s what he said. That’s what the man heard sitting at the bar. “You son of a bitch,” the kid said a second time when the man at the bar old enough to be his father didn’t respond. You don’t respond right away to son of a bitch if you’re…
If I could not sleep because I worry all I have not done remains undone and all I might is mightier than I, then getting out of bed becomes a challenge and I admittedly half heartedly try, one foot before the other inevitably leads outside to fetch the paper, other people’s pulp and fortune delivered…
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there. Did you want that next breath I took? Here, let me put it back so you can have it. Not that you depend on me for anything or ever will or ever want to, but it’s the least I can do and as for me not…
There are buds upon the trees and I am alive to see them. Men boast of weapons and gods in which they believe, all weapons of one sort or another against the enemies they perceive, but all of them are useless. There are buds upon the trees and I am alive to see them. ♥
