My brother and I are giving my dad a shower. It’s a literal shitty mess.
My brother and I are giving my dad a shower. It’s a literal shitty mess.
We left in a cab.
Walking along Fifth wondering if I’ll see Warhol on the street again.
The door bursts open. Their voices fight for space on the air waves that carry them.
The department store Tannoy startled me. “Attention shoppers, A&S closes in five minutes.”
She flung her bag in the backseat, removed her stethoscope from her neck, and placed it on the passenger seat.
Just when I’m drinking, studying for a test, finishing the test.
Most doctors do not have to give their sons this warning: When you get pulled over by the police, keep your hands on the steering wheel.
I pick up the seven cans the dogs have licked and put them in the recycling.
I realize you are the King the minute you enter the classroom.
Colossus was a lowland gorilla I studied for a college internship, recording his behaviors.
We've locked ourselves in the band room closet because a kid brought a gun to school.
I hear my mom howling over Patsy Cline’s croon.
I am eleven, home alone, and every creak of the floor and tat-tat-tat of the radiator sends a jolt of fear through my body.
One afternoon, I left to fetch water at the stream, my earthenware pot balanced atop my head.
Haylie told me to wait for someone who looks at me the way Flynn Rider looks at Rapunzel, an expression I saw on your face post-show at Buffalo Wild Wings.
Sam needed a ride home after band practice.
I was driving across country with my kids, hoping to see our friend before she went into surgery for cancer.
I stride to class, passing towering lockers.
My finger taps anxiously at the edge of my greasy screen as I anticipate his reply.