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(sorry, everyone I’ve ever met).
It is our waking dreams, our daydreams that are illuminating.
my father returned the balance of my money. It came to two hundred and thirty-eight dollars in coins, and I spent it all on records and submarine sandwiches.
He was there when our mother died and still, years later, continues to help our father grieve: “The past is gone, hoss. What you need now is some motherfucking pussy.”
The Deavers’ errant pit bull, Cass, bit the postman on the ass. Her lower teeth destroyed his sphincter. Now his walk’s a bit distincter.
