Hello, holidays! My favorite time of year. Every excuse in the world to partake and pay it later. That’s how I feel about pecan pie, egg nog and sparkling beverages, that is.
NOT so much when it comes to all the WASTE. When I think
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“So it’s come to this,” I mutter as I dumpster dive into the recycle bin. I’m digging out any scrap of paper with enough white space that I can write on. Because this is a note to myself,
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Sitting at a sun-bleached table in an urban garden, notebooks and laptops spread between us, Caroline and I commiserate over recent chaos. Cars breaking down, reliable people flaking, confirmed gigs falling through . .
Dropping our bags, we free our feet from shoe prisons and survey the room. Beige walls, tan carpet, white sheets. Nice, nice, we say, patting the beds and looking for open outlets. We espy a small balcony through the slats of the window blinds and hope for a glimpse of the final rays of the day.
We swing open the back door, then fall back on our heels, blasted
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Rivers pour off me as if I’m in the shower, but my own pores fuel this deluge. My lungs strain to wring oxygen from murky air thick with sweat and smoke. My eyes squint to discern the faintest
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