Category Archives: Colorado
I don’t believe in ghosts. I do believe that wicked work cannot be hidden.
I’ve peed behind dumpsters, on beaches, in alleys, gardens, parking lots, yards—and yet I was here, in this bathroom, I-can-pee-anywhere-ing in a space created for people who can’t.
Herb has long since retired. Where his barber pole once hung there’s now an upscale Vietnamese joint that does light lunches and dinners.
Fire is a dirty thing. Petulant, wild, prone to fits.
It is in the repetitive ritual of opening and closing the house each day—unrolling the broken shade by hand, wrestling with the deadbolt on the warped front door, seeing age—that I find inexplicable revelations.
I can still remember the first time I lied to my parents. I was seven years old and was obsessed with Indiana Jones.
“So I see you enjoy burritos…” I would say and then stare at my shoes. “ And I observe that you are also wearing… [squinting] shoes… very cool…”
No one believes it. I didn’t believe it, until I grabbed the bumper, tried to lift, and realized I didn’t even know how to grip the thing. I’m writing about an experience I still don’t fully understand, and the sharing of it is even more incomprehensible.