
The Dream Highway
The dream highway ran the narrow strip between the surf and the forest, and we drove alongside a ditch with its invasion of elephantine, doe-eyed marine

The dream highway ran the narrow strip between the surf and the forest, and we drove alongside a ditch with its invasion of elephantine, doe-eyed marine
When you’re shipwrecked and cannot die, the page of your book never turns. You live one endless day of saltwater, wind, and the veiny red behind

Image by Scragz
When Raymond died in a tragic avocado toast accident, he discovered that his assumptions about the afterlife were utterly incorrect. He had figured that
When I was fourteen, I asked my mom about hippies.
“Mom, were you a hippie in the sixties?”
She didn’t look up from her needlepoint. “What? Of course

She lounges, nude, in the long window seat, long legs draped over velvet cushions threaded with silver. The stars and gas giants, ripped from galactic tranquility,