Winos Will Save Us

The buzz is coming and I feel sweat form on my brow, feel the pull of the ocean waves retreating out to their plasticized origins. The magazine flips open again to the page I had left off reading. A beach patrol truck lurches by. I hide the wine bottle behind my back and pray no one has ratted me out.

The Sacred and The Stolen

The river creeps north. A delicate, brief breeze cuts the oppressive July heat. 

This canyon is sacred. It is also stolen.

Before Something Bad Happens

You would probably be right to say I was in love with him.

Falling Apples

an excerpt from the forth coming novella-in-stories, Room 2