A Love Letter to the Grand Rapids Swing Society
I laugh with them over Codenames and Fluxx, then ask if I can join them for swing dancing the next week.
I laugh with them over Codenames and Fluxx, then ask if I can join them for swing dancing the next week.
Fictional characters aren’t the only ones who can’t be described without their settings.
I begin to think about the time it takes for a tree to grow in a courtyard.
On every guitar case and appliance in sight were collections of stickers from anything and everywhere.
Convulsions—shocking, kill-stand-rattling convulsions—are normal.
For a moment, silence. Then, I was overtaken by ants.
Flooding stores with fresh hires just before a vote count in an attempt to dilute the vote? Illegal. Dragging their feet as long as possible with unionized stores, refusing to negotiate a contract with the union? Illegal.
I’d time the queue so that the lyric “can’t figure out / how I’m gonna get through the next 10 minutes” played as we arrived at the pitch.
You could smell the hesitant air looking for its next class in all the wrong buildings.
According to Boersma family lore, I had memorized the words to it before I even knew how to read.