dreading the bell. one more lunch in the library.you devour the books. you get the…
“Hello?”
“Hello! Is this Mr. Hobbs?”
“It is.”
The edge of the blade is warm against Kennedy’s skin. It’s not the first time he’s been cut, probably won’t be the last either, but…
Michael North, the pedestrian, the angel of judgement, in all his grey tuxedo- tail’d finery, walked up the center of Devonshire…
The morning before Father’s Day, my brother and I rode our bicycles to McCann’s Gift Shop. The store carried a brass shaving kit with…
It’s 10:00 AM, the morning of the 21st of February in 2018, and I choose to write;