#220
Leaving the high and the low desert of the Southwest, the edge of the Sonora.
Art of the Escape
Very short stories & 35mm images
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Roman Shorts - An Announcement
Jesse here - interrupting my usual writing with an announcement.
#219
Before we met for dinner at one of our usual spots, I was walking through memories along the canals and stopped past the Peggy Guggenheim to see if I could find something new, just as the light was dropping in the not-quite-midwinter sky and illuminated the tops of the buildings to the east.
#218
The man at the pool who looks and talks like Jack Black drinks Coors Light, one after another, and then crushes the empties and tosses them by the lounge chairs.
#217
The house reveals itself in layers.
#216
What no one really knows about her is that her internal life is rich.
#215
Fragmented.
#214
I’m at The Brig, on Abbot Kinney, a no-nonsense bar, with just enough nonsense to keep it fun.
#213
Kyrie Eleison starts, and I know that by the end of the evening, I will have cried, and my face will be red and look like I’ve been crying.
#214
Midwinter.
#213
Jesus, the house smells like anchovies, because I cooked with them for dinner and then, the dog and I went out for a walk and when I opened the door, the cold air flowing inside, the anchovies were there with their sharp, fishy smell to them that that dog must love and feel at home in, but I find atrocious, now, a few hours after the fact.
#212
Lydia had just gotten home and was in the kitchen, while I was sort of in a half awake state on the sofa.
#211
Ah, the Francis Bacon, those are at the other Tate, down the river, and on a nice day like this, if I were you, I’d walk.
#210
In Amsterdam, you were telling me where I could find a camera battery nearby and showing me the spots on your phone in the library of the small museum that few people seem to know about, but that’s not a problem.
#209
The poet at the event didn’t read but recited his verses from memory, the way an actor on stage might deliver lines, but the poet was not acting - he felt the words he spoke.
#208
Grandma liked to play bingo in the nursing home.
#207
The guidebook didn’t tell us how much the campsite would cost - only that it was there.
#206
Close to dusk, along the river path, where the leaves have felt the cold of autumn and have turned shades of orange and yellow, an older man with a cane stops the dog and me and asks what the building is across the street.
#205
The dog somehow knew where we were headed.
#204
The girl at the front desk, which was also the bar, gave me a map of the surrounding area because I wanted to do a long walk, yet I feel I should have trusted my own instincts instead, as the map was askew, and it took me a while to understand where I was.