Eight-Year-Old Self Writes A Story
Good stories should have the things you like in them: the glittery, jewel-toned things otherwise unattainable.
JAKE
A Hand In The Clouds
Arthur worked this job. It was a job that he didn’t understand. It was a job that nobody understood. It was a job that required him to drive to these towns and villages and neighborhoods and look at the trees.
I Wish I Was Blue Moon
I wish I could know that warmth
Ode to the World’s Largest Honky Tonk
A feeling of non-existence:
It's a Yes or No Question
You’re not a complainer, are you?
Maybe what stays with us is—
that sound of hope
For Erica, Who Makes the Flowers Grow
We were young when we all met, intrepid seven year olds evicted from air-conditioned houses by distracted parents, left to fend for ourselves in the sunbaked streets of suburbia.