My Old Haunts
All the ghosts I had at the River Arts District White Duck Taco have been drowned.
All the ghosts I had at the River Arts District White Duck Taco have been drowned.
They whispered, “Did you feel that too?”
I was haunted by the thought of a home that was all around me yet so distant from me.
I write about how much I miss a recently-defunct business because the Gathering, to myself and many, many people, was more than a place to get a good chai.
Those were the saddest things I could think of at that age: Ghosty was lonely. And without ice cream.
I repeated the words I’ve heard from my friends, family, and therapists, hoping that they’d pull me out of the dark corners of intrusive thoughts.
I can’t stand to think about it outside of my sketchbook and my Word document.
The tales say The Peeing Man looks just like a normal customer, so you’ll never know it’s him, until it’s too late… .
I struggle to write in terms that will be received by a general audience as measured, considerate, thoughtful, because for the past year Palestinian suffering has been irrational, malicious, unthinkable.
I am unsure of whether we remembered to lock the front door.