...I’m cool as hell. And I want to look like I did when I was leaping about with half dressed ribs to music we made once upon a long ago... [197 words]

My mother walked out of a grocery store. My father drove up in a car, a fast car, silver, a car that goes vroom vroom.

She ordered us a pizza and we sat at the kitchen table eating cheap two for one deal pizza. I pushed the grease around with a crust. My mother drank a tall Tanqueray and tonic.

The old house smelled like copies of Life and Reader's Digest and Leica catalogs and my grandfather's nonfiction books.

I carefully placed the knife back to its original position and, with poorly contained excitement, retrieved a palm from the fridge. It was slightly wrinkled, but it was just as fair as the rest of the pristine white in the fridge. It felt warm to my hands

After she died, clearing out her safe deposit box at the local bank, I found more numberplates.

Like the willow she stands alone, swaying.

Mama always hears but does not listen. In a small town such as this, it’s all she can do.