after Meg Pokrass and Terrance Hayes I’m always thinking how to escape death. Somehow, like that Mesopotamian maniac, the mythic prince who asked for tips from his barista before his story was written in clay; we’ve heard the screech and…
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It was raining cats and dogs when we ducked into Le Carafe. Ted said it was the oldest bar in Houston. He ordered a Lone Star on tap, made a beeline for the john. I asked for wine. We got…
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After Love Street Blues published by Fractured Lit I wanted to live on an alley when I grew up. My nose flush against the cool glass, shadows cast over darkened brick, bottles broken, and the shuffle of running feet, the…
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A heatwave smothers Texas like a ten-gallon hat so I abandon the three fans rotating in the apartment and speed out the door, my Dallas Stars tee-shirt as damp as warm teabags. All I can think about is having a…
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Ben sits in the back of the car, chewing popcorn so it squeaks against his teeth, and little Janey sits up front, sucking on a peach. Sometimes I like to take my hands off the steering wheel and wave my…
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