Well Lit

We’re crossing into Arizona when Mom looks into the rearview mirror and says to me, We’re never going back. And she’s wearing her hot pink nail polish so I know she means it. I lean against the window, cheek pressed to the glass, and watch the telephone poles whiz by. There isn’t much to see … More Well Lit

Little White Lines

I met Janice in a dark crowded bar in Barcelona, Spain, just a few days after her seventeenth birthday. She was from Switzerland and even though she didn’t look it, she was younger than my little sister. I was twenty five, living in a funky little apartment near the beach, and had been trying my … More Little White Lines