I’m running around Lake Como in Saint Paul, Minnesota near my brother’s apartment, passing the smiling summer faces of casual walkers, shirtless joggers, and babies caroling around in strollers. The day is a perfect eighty degrees and sparks of fulgurous light dance on the surface of the lake. July flowers border the trail and each…
Home Home is tomato sauce from mom’s pepperoni rolls that no one registers enough to tell me I’ve something on my face, stuck in my beard the smell of her baking wafts like an opiate cloud that lingers in labored expressions on the pugs who will always know their needs without the muddling of articulation…
On Monday, with Tyler finally here, we left the cray-cray-craziness of busy Nairobi to the countryside to discover the youthful stomping grounds of our brotha-brothers, Calvin and Joash. As if reminding us why we were leaving, Nairobi showed us one of her least attractive qualities and kept us fighting traffic for three hours before we…
I’m writing the draft of what you’re reading with a Sharpie on canvas. Tony’s house. There’s only have art supplies to write with. Everyone else is outside smoking now. I’m refraining. I tell people I’m training for a marathon. But really, I’m just running a lot. I’m procrastinating deciding when and where and which marathon…
