In a loosely gathered knot, cousins from different airports arrive at her bedside, morphine placed beneath her tongue, a liquid sacrament. Friends want her to recognize them, to repeat names,
Before she died, she wore an orange ruffle to her 100th birthday party, now photographs on the walls, earth-tone paintings, the same shade as a coverlet thrown across her queen-sized
I’m on vacation from Chicago and visiting my girlfriend in Louisiana. Kathy and I met in college where we played on the same basketball team. This is my first time
Fred’s, you Super Dollar Store tucked behind a Waffle House and a Sonic drive-through along Highway 165 in Sterlington, Louisiana, how many times have I parked in your lot to
I will miss you the most in the evening after the dishes are put away and I’ve retired to the bedroom knowing there’s nothing on TV to hold my interest,
I’ll tell you the story of the heart poacher, a man with a hunger for hearts. how he rides all day in a wagon looking for one that’s ripe, and when he
I invite you to my website.