This wasn’t supposed to be fun. We were moving our lives, not taking a road trip.
Parallax parallax, n. [pærəlæks] 1. You always drove whenever we’d take a road trip anywhere. Which was just fine with me. I’d sit beside you, staring out at the moving scenery or memorizing your profile. Sometimes I’d fall asleep to the gentle rhythm of the car treading along the asphalt and then we’d hit a... Continue Reading →
When I pulled away the hospital sheet, I asked Jared, “Do you like them?” and he whistled a long note, then rubbed his hands together.
They wore rings on their toes and billowing pajama pants that let their legs shine through when they walked circles around Episcopal churchyards during Sunday services.
One tiny insufficient winter, the whole world gradually blew away. Every minute, every hour, every day, a little bit – robin’s egg, paper plane, rogue pizza menu –was gone.
Tonight, as we walked back to our hostel in the little outskirt where we are staying, we saw a dog on the road, and beneath that dog we saw a second dog and beneath that second dog we saw the deep and unending darkness.
There are an unquantified number of stops. One knows a train is passing by the streak of warm light from its windows.