A Shovel for My Thoughts
I was bouncing between two shitholes at the time: Sharon’s house, which was a sad apartment complex of white trash that had been left behind in Lakewood, and Lewis’s house,
Explore raw, unfiltered reflections on life, loss, identity, and love. From monogamy to madness, these real-life stories pull no punches — and they just might hit home.
I was bouncing between two shitholes at the time: Sharon’s house, which was a sad apartment complex of white trash that had been left behind in Lakewood, and Lewis’s house,
I used to be one of those guys who played hard to get. Not because I was shy or lacked confidence—Christ, I knew what I was capable of—but because I
They have a name for it now, a nice, clean, scientific-sounding name they cooked up in some university basement: “The Universal Fear of the Unknown.” It’s the kind of thing
I was driving from the North Shore to Honolulu, the gas light in my car blinking like a nervous eye. I was already running on fumes, pushing it hard, a
You know, sometimes the weirdest shit just falls out of your mouth. I was on a date a few months back. The usual dance. Small bites, a couple of drinks.
Is it happiness we’re all supposed to be searching for? I look around this town, this armpit called Tucson, and it seems a little less polished here, a little less
There’s this scene I remember. A young girl, all fresh and full of questions, in the back of a convertible. The wind is whipping through her hair. She’s sitting next
Fifty-six years. You spend that long looking in the mirror, you watch the goddamn show in reverse. The body starts to rot, and the mind, it just gets sharper, meaner.
I found myself sitting there, soaking it in. This positive, feel-good message, dripping like honey from the lips of this delicate flower who had her whole goddamn life figured out.
There’s a point in life where you come to a cold, hard realization: you won’t see certain people again. It’s not a dramatic thought; it’s just a quiet, sober fact.
I saw the psychic today. Mr. Tony. But before I even sat down in his little office, the day had already taken a shit on me. A long, ugly drive
Poly Poly There was this woman in Hawaii. I used to call her my Poly Girl, a cheap label for something I didn’t understand. Looking back now, after all the