I’m 43. I don’t really text. I could, but I don’t, and when I do, it’s pretty lame. Which isn’t much different than when anyone else texts, I think. You look back on the strings and they’re precision details about… Read More ›
humor
Corpse Pose (On Creation)
The Barbie dolls are on their backs, arms in supplication, dead bugs frozen in the position of a child’s imagination before it moves on to something else. Me and the dolls and our glassy eyes, plastic smiles, a battlefield of… Read More ›
Seaview, 2003
We lived in a 800 square-foot, two bedroom shack in West Seattle built in 1919. You had to go outside to do the laundry, to get to the basement. That was the one drawback because the basement flooded, you had… Read More ›
Saving butterflies in books: making memories fiction
Dawn’s trying to help her mom figure out how her laptop works, on the couch. The two of them marvel over how simple it can be when you do it the right way and it’s like the seven wonders of… Read More ›
Youngs Snug Bar: the story behind the sign
Mike and I drove down from London to the south of France in a VW camper van with a gay couple my step-dad befriended in the 60s. Rob and Paul were a gruff duo who rarely touched, and slept in… Read More ›
As I lay dying, lying about death
All the people who work at the bar seem to have part of their brains missing. They’re confused about what’s on tap and always have to check with someone else; I wonder if they’re hungover or just stupid. And that’s… Read More ›
Cooking the carcass
Thanksgiving falls so late this year, it’s like two dinner guests turning up at the same time who shouldn’t, making things awkward. Neighbors were out putting up lights before Thanksgiving even started, and I found myself doing the same. The… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 