Inebriated Thoughts
Most nights, my only friend is Whiskey
Then I think to myself,
Whiskey, that’s a weird name for a friend.
Lessons In Life #32
Sometimes, when I hear about earthquakes in California,
My initial response is (more…)
Lessons In Life #27
Sometimes, when I’m down in the village,
Looking for a fun time,
I often consider the (more…)
Pretend
Under the tree there was an old bench that was made of wood, but the boards were cut unevenly and the whole thing rested on legs that were small tree stumps. On the bench the boy sat up right with his feet stretched out in front of him while crossed at the ankles. Not too far down the dirt road – and it was a dirt road – was a small colonial cottage, not pretty, but plain and dark and shabbily made. Earlier, he found a long blade of grass that was yellowing a bit and kept it at the corner of his mouth because his favorite book was Huckleberry Finn and he liked to look the way he thought Huck did in the story.
His little brother was walking back from the cottage with something in his hands.
“Look what I bought!” the younger boy said, and lowered his cupped palms.
“How much did you spend?”
“Not much.”
“How much?”
