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


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