I looked up and my family was gone, lost in the folds of Powell’s bookstore, Portland, the litmosphere they call it, and I wandered the displays sniffing cakes of handmade soaps, glassware designed for gluten-free beer, branded. All the Portlanders… Read More ›
hippies
Open your heart to the trees
The doormat can’t go askew but it does, and I have to straighten it each time I go by. Cats act no different than people when they’re high on cat nip, on drugs: self-centered, prone to violent acts. Still I… Read More ›