In the five years he'd been working at the Center for Disease Control, Dr. Jackson Bowie had never had an issue like this. A week prior, on what should have been just another Tuesday at the laboratory, he instead found himself facing the biggest crisis of his career. His desk chair was missing. His utterly … Continue reading Urgent
Shhf-shhf-shhf... polyester coats rub against armrests and lights dim as speakers surge-- a signal to be quiet. But cellophane crackles like static and a greedy palm fills with hard-shelled candied noisemakers readily popped and crunched between teeth. Salted, greasy fingers rummage in waxed bags before giving the kernels a good toss-- shick shick-- to find that perfect puffed piece. A rasping, lisping … Continue reading April 9 : A Not-So-Quiet Place
It starts simply enough-- a new thing needs a new home so I scrape the pages and piles from the desk and wipe a rough rag across its face. Then the drum head perched rather precariously above looks like it needs the same attention. As I hang the hand-painted Reaper again on its nail a … Continue reading April 7 : Clean
Porchlight floats in soft through threadbare curtains crisscrossing our shadows with the kitchen's single-bulb glow while we stand slowly swaying, bare feet dancing in tiptoed steps, quietly on the crushed carpet. The stereo is low but the night is late and the music sounds like surround as he curls me against his chest before casting … Continue reading April 6 : Requiem
Shredded pages torn from yellow pads littered next to neatly stacked piles of "To Do," "To File," and "Too Many Questions." A rapid fire Thursday from dawn 'til the quiet moment in a can of cold pasta at my desk. Six deliveries, eight pallets of potting soil, twelve invoices, and one headache, lasting an approximate … Continue reading April 5 : Thursday
Typewriter Moon 