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The cat's on the floor fussing with the plastic bag from the liquor store. There are tiny scratches and bites on my hand. The TV is fully concerned with liquor-induced violence. "These people are thirsty." I'm the same, but my needs are met. Prohibition's over. …
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It drifted into the sea, I say, when you ask me about home. You’ve only known me for a few moments, so you’re not sure how to gauge me. You laugh, and make an Annabel Lee reference. The English teach in me wants to hug you. The New Jersey in me wants
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But she knew what she would find. She knew it all the moment she felt the sticky fingerprints behind the slat of her old oak slay bed. The fingerprints that would only be left from a person grabbing it from behind their head. The fingerprints that she
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