Faulkner says good-bye to the south.

By Michael Gatton

As a young writer, the place I was raised holds special importance to me.  It’s like a first love, something that’s difficult to give up, but to hold on slowly kills you.  My soul aches at the thought of Vero Beach these days.  It has become a place I can’t bear any longer.

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Too much of heaven,
can bring you underground.
Heaven, can always turn around.
Too much of heaven,
a life and soul hell bound.
Heaven, the killer makes no sound.

--Too much of heaven, Eiffel 65

This has got to stop, she thought as she began clearing the counter so she could start making dinner.  He’s going to find out before too long.  Her thoughts that night were a ball of tension hidden somewhere in her stomach.  She put some water on to boil, and as the plate began to grow red, she heard a key in the lock and jumped, startled.

Shit, ( Read more... )

If they're going to pay me a day late, does that mean I can go in tomorrow instead of tonight?

It’s just a park. Most would dismiss it upon seeing, but not these two. You see, this park means something to them. And this is the moment of twilight. Clouds are absent tonight. Stars are scattered across the sky, in a way that makes you think of a sea of pepper and the contrast brought out by the bits of brilliant white. There is one light ( Read more... )

If I see another Maroon5 quote in someone's AIM profile, I will choke on the irony.

Dammit, Peter. His name is always Tucker now!

One day Lawman pulled me over and said, "Hey boy, are you selling drugs ( Read more... )

Per Kim's request ( Read more... )

Wrestle with my name ( Read more... )