As young and trendy revelers mixed, mingled, saw, and worked to be seen, two older men sat on wood lounge chairs on a wood-frame porch attached to a wood-frame house.
We hired three Santas – Soused, Salacious, and Reluctant.
Mom treated everyone like she wanted us to be treated – with love, compassion, and respect.
“I never see his eyes, and it gets to me,” Tracey Morris writes.
I’d try to insert my ballot, but the machine would push it back, returning the error message, “NO DATA AVAILABLE.”
I jumped and let out a slight squeal. This guy was right up on me. Again.
“Siri,” I asked my phone when I pulled up to a red light. “Have you read Ms. Beatty’s story already? These song choices just seem too coincidental.”
This isn’t the 1967 riots. There’s no smoke or soot billowing into the air, but Detroit is still being looted by desperate people.
Love should not have that much pain or sorrow in it.
The motley crew of animals my family and I have adopted knew and know nothing but love, security, and joy.