I woke up strapped to a hospital bed this morning.
February 22, 2015
The day had started like every other Saturday they’d spent together for the last thirty-seven years.
February 21, 2015
See, they remembered to bring acid, but not water, so I kind of figured it wasn’t really a necessity, you know?
February 20, 2015
I’d never pass up the chance to take in New England’s illustrious foliage while pigging out on my mom’s couch.
Then he said, “Great legs. What time do they open?”
February 19, 2015
My father’s car always smelled like loose tobacco and freshly ground coffee.
February 18, 2015
She painted. She took photographs. Wrote poetry. Sang. Laughed. Danced.
February 17, 2015
I do not look like a damn rodeo clown! You know, I really liked this look, but it has her feeling like I’m a stalker rapist.
February 16, 2015
It lulled her to sleep at night with its rhythmic ticking. It was all things to her and it was all things to me.
February 15, 2015
Now, can I please have a rum and coke and a big old cheeseburger, medium rare?
Marie Hendry 