max sits on the couch, a news bulletin has interrupted his basketball game.
his roommate looks up from facebook.
“what is it?”
“another guy killing defenseless people.”
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sally mccarthy bathes her daughter in a shallow tub on the kitchen table. the baby fusses but stops short of crying.
as she sponges her tiny hands, sally marvels at the soft palms, just starting to prune. and her uncle carter’s voice speaks up in her memory.
“i don’t see what all the fuss is about. if i was jesus, i would have begged to be crucified.” read more >
probably the most depressing song yet, but i’m sure i can top it.
after two weeks of revery, mr. sullivan emerges back in his hospital room. things continue downhill.
not much to say here. the battlefield has shrunk to the point of the few inches that separate reality from dreams, and for our hero, the lines are drawing still closer. read more >
number 17. dave balon’s number. he scored four goals against the north stars in the first ranger game i ever saw way back in 1971. he became my favorite. my brothers laughed, cause he was not a star. he had a monstrous comb-over.
i meant this as a random reference, until i looked him up and recalled that he was later diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. and i just now found out that he died two years back, at age 68. in his final years he had lost the power to speak. read more >