Dawn and I, walking to the neighborhood sushi restaurant from our rental apartment. The little place on the corner, people cueing on the outside. The kitchen is so small, they must have six in there. Everyone is huddled over their… Read More ›
Memoir
One life lost, climbing
If you believe we have nine lives, I’ve wasted at least one in the mountains. I’m afraid of scuba diving, bicycling, and nearly hurt myself bad playing Pickleball (a form of tennis). But I’ve climbed a few big mountains by… Read More ›
Beer, blankets and sunsets
That time of year the days outlast us, the sun comes through the trees and into our family room around 9 PM. Saturday night with Cat Stevens, the girls’ dramatic dance interpretations of Peace Train, the irony that my mom… Read More ›
The record you made after you should have stopped making records
Driving across Maryland in the middle of the night, from a state campground back to our flat in Ocean City. The end of the summer, college graduation, months spent standing around with lagers and our guts hanging out, passing pipes,… Read More ›
Scene From A Window Not Seen
Old man with curly hair, thick glasses, Mercedes. We play with the hood ornament on the Mercedes: it bends back, then stands up again. He watches us from the window. Wiffle ball in the courtyard, summer. He calls down to… Read More ›
Bloodshot, Crow’s Feet, Fingernail Moons
I got sick at the campsite. Drew scooped it up with one hand and threw it in the fire before his dog could eat it. It made a hissing sound and sparks, my last memory that night. We tripped out… Read More ›
Drug Friend
Peel held his arm out to me like a piece of meat, like it wasn’t his, like it was something he found. He looked to me for a reaction at what I saw: the spots along his veins, scarred over,… Read More ›
Before there was a name for it
I didn’t know the name for it: 14 years old, spring, going out with a girl on a date, getting a ride to the movies. Innocent love, before it gets complicated with sex. Crawling all over each other with our… Read More ›
Man-kissing in Spain
We drove several hours down the east coast of Spain to a three-day music festival in Benicàssim. I didn’t plan well, and realized once we got there they didn’t have cash machines. I assumed I could get some using my debit… Read More ›
The Waiting Room
Peel died of a heroin overdose in a cheap New York hotel, probably exactly what he wanted. I saved a letter he wrote in 1992, with his careful, shaky verse: instead of my name in the address line on the… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 