Spin the Bottle

Grade school for me was a California boy’s paradise, a gold rush banker’s mansion made over into a jungle of early math and Ishi stories surrounded by dense green forest. When the rain came we would roam deep into the woods, damming the creeks and returning steaming to the ballroom. My parents were a San… Continue reading Spin the Bottle

Falafel stop

As I came in to off the street, a woman is standing there, neither in nor outside of the tiny shop, reddened, cloaked eyes asking for help. She holds out her hand and the guy in front of me says “sorry, no cash,” and looks back at his phone. The woman pauses and then replies… Continue reading Falafel stop