Our Dear Fathers

The nights were still cold in the Northeast, and the freight train lurched and shook while we sat in silence against its wall. I climbed the side of the car to look out to the dark hills and then into a forest.


“You’re standing smack in the middle of the rose capital of the world, how does it smell?” Yolie, my local host on a misadventure to Wasco, California, beamed.

The Reefing Line

I lived and that meant not doing all the non-living things I did in New York. Sleeping too much. Drinking too much constantly hunting for sex.