Wonderment_The Curse Of The Sun_Patron Saint Mickey_Cherry on Top
Catalog Guide:
Wonderment
“That’s the thing about this city mom, it welcomes you, draws you in and accepts you as its own. I swear it was as if Chicago itself decided I belonged in Old Town and it was going to make sure that’s where I ended up . . . well, with a little help from Moffat,” Sarah grinned as her mother wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, then adjusted Sarah’s veil. “Tell me again how you met Davante,” her mother sighed as she looked at Sarah’s reflection in the mirror. She’d never seen her daughter as happy as she was at this moment, looking so beautiful in the wedding dress they’d picked out together...
The Curse Of The Sun
May 3rd, 1965、 Greece.Lying on the warm sand, feeling the sensual yet soothing sun rays, smelling the humid sea air, hearing couples giggle, and dreaming of my childhood. My childhood was just like the sea, uncertain, stormy, and always uprising with problems. Still, I love to remember it, makes me realize the change in my life, lets me remind the good things; I have with me.I try to open my eyelids slowly, trying not to capture the harsh gaze of the sun, I scram through my picnic basket for my Laurel sunglasses. My fingers touch the soggy sandwich, the tin of cookies, sunblock, and at last th...
Patron Saint Mickey
One. It was the most appropriate place to start anything, he figured. The loneliest number, not that he minded being alone. He struck the match and watched the red and black end spark to life. He inhaled deeply, taking pleasure in the chemical tinge of the first smoke. The flame swayed in the draft of the small front room in which he sat, as he did every Saturday evening at seven o’clock sharp, the television tuned to channel Four WZRY. Outside his window the wind whipped the branches of the big oak tree. He held his hand around the flame and lowered it gently to the wick of the candle, coaxin...
Cherry on Top
February 6, 2020“Every day in this place is like eating a big ol’ bowl of shit.”Jimmy looks at me when he says this, but really he’s talking to the guard who is getting ready to lock the heavy metal door to our two-man cell. It's Officer Beaudoin. Big fat creole guy from way out in the swamps south of New Orleans. I been down there once when I was a teenager. Not much difference between land and water far as I recall. His gut is hanging way out over his belt, Beaudoin's is, but he doesn't care one whit about that.Beaudoin rolls his eyes. He's heard it all before. Then the door clangs shut, hea...