Hot Dogs

“How long have the hot dogs been in there?” asks a man with a faded black backpack and four-day scruff on his face. The ferry has just shoved off and the sun has hit the place in the sky that puts a flat gold patina on the water, the color of candlesticks in an attic. … More Hot Dogs

Expert

We’d never spoken, only nodded greetings to one another in the ripening daylight. We park in the same lot, lock our cars and make our way to the small terminal. He is large and walks slowly, his pack looks like a child’s across his wide, rounded shoulders. His eyes are dark pebbles behind his glasses. … More Expert

Good Life

The woman is dirty in a worker’s way. Jeans grimed from outdoors, stuffed into the kind of tall rubber boots left on the front porch at night. Her fleece jacket was blue once, but now washed to gray. It’s zipped up to a soft, hand-knit pink scarf looped beneath her chin.  Some strands of shiny … More Good Life

Future

She probably thought he mattered, in a way that matters in their kind of world. All deep voiced, gravelly and slow at the ends of his sentences and more so when he stood straight.  She probably met him in that dim club on Dock Street, throbbing with beats and the heat of oversexed Navy men. … More Future