Tag Archives: pieces

There are days where all I can manage is pulling a bottle off the shelf, unscrewing the cap and drinking until a thick, impenetrable haze has wound itself around my eyes and knotted at the base of my skull. Sometimes … Continue reading →

People went to the field days every year, drawn by brightly coloured rides, games, inexpensive toys won at ridiculous costs, food that was terrible for you, but tasted too good to ignore. The smell of cotton candy, fried dough, candy … Continue reading →

When I drink tonight, I’m sure I’ll be tasting copper pennies at some point. Those belong on your eyes. Or maybe under your tongue. There are lines across the backs of my forearms. I put them there, with a thumbtack, … Continue reading →

Every town has one, you know. The place on the other side of the railroad tracks. The ‘wrong’ side, some say. After dark, for some reason, the streetlights there just don’t shine like they do on the right side. I … Continue reading →

Pick up the phone. Please, pick up the phone. I know you’re there; I know you’re listening to it ringing. I know that you never turn it off; you keep saying you will, but I know you haven’t, yet. I … Continue reading →