Spitball Army

Card is titled: “Patio of Pio Pico Mansion, Whittier, California.”

[Read more →]

We sit in Mom’s open garage on rollators, like old folks. Deaf Guy across the street belches periodically; we laugh, then wait.

[Read more →]

My Dad taught me: The best part of drinking bottled Coke is the tiny cokie particles collected in the bottom, making the last swig the best.

[Read more →]

Wearing my late father’s t-shirt: comfortable, soft, not at all like his sun-leathered skin. His smell has been washed out of it.

[Read more →]

My Gramma used to bathe her poodle in Listerine. #mygrandmaiscool #andeccentric

[Read more →]

Approximate playing time: 79 minutes.

[Read more →]

Granny’s kitchen smells of hot, fried bean empanadas. The dominant scent at Gramma’s: the Listerine with which she bathes her dog.

[Read more →]

I. Great Uncle did stunts in silents and shot a man in a cowboy one-reeler, then vanished to the hills like Roy Earle in High Sierra. II. His nephew, my father, could quote all of Fred C. Dobbs’ lines and shared his suspicious tendencies. Perhaps it was genetic. III. Dad called him Hobart Humphrey. I’d [...]

[Read more →]

The toy gun from a Tijuana cart gets its cork removed on the long ride home. He sits behind Mom in the car, taunting: “Pop! Pop!”

[Read more →]

I remember reading this letter when I first received it in my inbox three years ago. Everything in the room went silent then, as if in the thrall of some cinematic effect, and my focus was completely on the text.

[Read more →]