My first shift. Spilled a glass of Sprite and dropped a basket of onion rings within the first 30 minutes. Surprisingly, they let me stay.
In the failure of dogma, try generosity.
I won’t say we pulled half-burned logs out of firepits to salvage them for our own use, but I won’t deny it either.
Almost despite myself, I’m finding that I do enjoy the quiet, the darkness.
Law and order, but only certain laws and certain orders.
As the days now grow shorter and the nights darker, I try to let the metaphor of autumn give me hope instead of melancholy.
We would be poorer without heros, and yet they would be nothing without us.
I’d scour the library then return home with an armload of feminist literary retellings.
So I’ll wrap some twigs in newspaper and set them alight atop a log to watch them burn while the veil hangs thin.
October is an attack on the senses in the best way.