Faces_Proof of Love_Outside my Frosted Window_My Year of Dreams and Drinks
Catalog Guide:
Faces
The sky. A flock of birds in the distance. The green canopy of the leafy trees above. The weathered tarmac of the sidewalk. Hurried stepping of other pedestrians. The fleeting glimpse of vehicles speeding past. Ireti looked everywhere but the person at her side. She’d been working herself up to interrupt him, waiting with a fast sinking hope for a lull in the torrent of words that gushed forth from his mouth. But he kept talking. He mouthed inanities. Something about being greatly ofwww.onedoor.ccfended. An expected sympathy from her. In truth, the talk was meaningless to her. She was beginning to feel u...
Proof of Love
TW: abusive relationship described.Old Man Luedecke had released his Proof of Love album in the late summer. Of course we had seen him live four times through the spring and summer. Once in a church, where the sound rolled through the polished wood like amber honey and scotch pouring into a crystal glass. Twice at the coffeehouse where we sipped our craft sodas with an all ages crowd. And once at a giant club where he looked out of place surrounded with empty stage, perched on a chair with his wool sweater and banjo, and where only about half the crowd sang along, the rest yell-talking to each...
Outside my Frosted Window
Outside my frosted window, a thick blanket of fluffy white powder covers the ground. The icicles hanging just feet from my face tempt me to reach out and grab one of the long spires to use as a popsicle. I barely resist the temptation, remembering how many times Kayah and I got our lips stuck as kids and had to peel them from the ice. Not on my wedding day! Never being one for romantic fancies, I couldn’t imagine that my wedding would turn into a fantastical winter wonderland. Snow blankets as far as my eyes can see, the fields, the barn. Pillowy cotton balls cling to every tree and bush in ou...
My Year of Dreams and Drinks
The new year starts on the bathroom floor with a man, thirty-six years older than me, throwing up. Maybe he’s had too much booze, or maybe too much life—it can be hard to tell—but vomit looks like vomit, no matter the cause. The chunks are just as pink from whisky-and-bean mash as they are from debt-and-lies soup.The man moans a bit and turns on his side. His head clunks against the porcelain toilet base, and it feels nice against his frown lines—cool and soothing. He stays there for a while, and when he’s ready to leave, to rise above the beige-ing toilet bowl and full box of tissues behind i...