The Last Car in the Parking Lot
A part of me always knew the place wasn’t the right fit.
A part of me always knew the place wasn’t the right fit.
You couldn’t take me anywhere as a kid.
Then there’s hunting, and the days that dad would pull us out of school for a “family emergency” so that we could chase after dogs who chased after pheasants and then watch as their iridescent feathers caught the autumn sun.
I like knowing the sorts of things they write crossword puzzle clues about; it’s one of the ways I feel like I understand the world I live in.
The excessive dramatics might just be because your grandpa is a Leo though.
Where oh where Lord, are these great things?
The blue jays we were ignoring are more striking birds.
I reach quasi Tour de France hill climb status.
I’ve started considering that there’s more to the idea than just talking to flight agents and snapping at my husband.
“You’re Koster’s sister, right? Why aren’t you a ginger?”