Before I left Alexandria I stopped by the city’s art museum. I’ve always enjoyed museums. They’re quiet, and sometimes I need quiet. I sat down by myself, and wondered at the freedom I remembered from the dream. What was that like? I had gone where I wanted. I had made my own mistakes and my own successes, visions of an ill fated attempt to paint ( Read more... )

Chris trudged out and wrapped his arms around me, resting his pokey chin on my shoulder, while I cooked eggs with peppers. A bird chirped on outside. “Teetero, teetreete, teetero, titit.”
            “Hello, hottie, what’cha doing?”  Perhaps he would have seen for himself if he hadn’t been fixing his mouth on my neck. Chris’ greatest talent in life ( Read more... )

The worst thing about being a coward is that your words don’t have weight. That is, being a coward is a hell of a lot like being half invisible, and your words, well, they hardly even exist at all. The second worst thing is that you end up in places like Jonesville, Louisiana, in a heat so fierce and a humidity so thick that you want to lay down ( Read more... )