Impressions
Aug 22, 2017 · 1 min read

I planted my son’s first kiss
on his forehead in my wife’s
room which she shared with
a chain-smoking waitress who
rattled off tale after tale of
toddlers and teens gone wrong.
A simple peck on pink bald skin.
My wife: Is that a smile?
Not quite.
He spat up on my shoulder.
The green goo on my linen shirt
called to mind my first kiss with
Kathy Anne Conway in the back of
the church bus the night we
smuggled two six packs of
warm Pabst beer Steve Emory
found in his father’s garage.
I passed her one… …two three
fourfivesix until she dropped
her guard, said, what the hell
and never returned my calls.
Wry noir writer Phillip T. Stephens is the author of Cigerets, Guns & Beer, Raising Hell and Seeing Jesus. Follow him @stephens_pt.

