The day after my sixteenth birthday, my mother took me to the matchmaker ( Read more... )

Like a beggar asking for change, I held out my hand, but she didn't seem to notice it hanging in the air between us ( Read more... )

When I found you again, you were squatting in the dirt, out in the backyard. "I was worried you had left. The party's not so bad, you know ( Read more... )

...because I'm too lazy, stressed out, or busy, or can't figure out where they'd work into a story. Oh, so many excuses for not writing anything. Maybe one of these things will luck out and get turned into something one day. Bit of foul language on the last one.

( Five )