Sometimes dates aren't dates and aren't full of sweet nothings. Read More

How shall I kill him? Poison knows ancient success, the weapon of choice for women, Shakespeare, and Russians. Guns are all-American. What shall it be? Poison? A gun? Maybe I should be thinking access — and egress — first, not weaponry. The West Wing boasts a dining room, a long cold room when empty. Could… Read More

I didn’t much give a damn for wearing glasses. Read More

The neighborhoods are beginning to welcome Paayme Paxaayt back into their lives. Read More

Sometimes you have to work with them. Then, separation is impossible. Read More

This is the one, my old man says. Read More

I can’t stand the sight of my cell phone... Read More

"We must all swim in the same sea. Right?” Read More

We each float at the center of a separate, outwardly radiating helix. Read More

Hey, catcha cobia, Hey, catcha valentine, Hey catcha co co bia, Eyes cold valentine bia. I listened to that jingle for years. The damned thing became an ear worm. An ear worm can be a snatch of rhythm, a melodic phrase, a whole tune. First, they just crawl around your ear, but eventually they become… Read More