And I just don’t have it in me to explain to a cop why I’m burying Reynolds Wrap under the hostas.
Category Archives: Greece
I suppose it’s encouraging to recognize ways that I’ve grown since then, but I’m frustrated by what feels unfinished.
I know. It’s just a suitcase. OR IT’S JUST THE MAW OF THE CAVE OF WONDERS FROM ALADDIN WAITING TO EAT ME ALIVE.
I can’t be the only one who wanted to know others’ thoughts about them. The stories locked away, whatever they are, waiting to be told.
As a writer, I want to say I’m haunted by this question—why do we travel? In reality I’m not “haunted” by the why of travel so much as annoyed by its insistence on being answered.
Costas is a short man with bright brown eyes, a salt-and-pepper beard. He dresses in long pants with a plaid button up tucked into a high waistband. Sensible walking shoes.