My Adventures In A Stolen Car

“Let’s go, Chris!” “I’m coming!” I shouted in a whisper. It was the summer of 1992.  I was a teenager.  My best friend, Johnny, had been stealing his step-dad’s shiny new Lincoln Continental every weekend and picking me up at

The Boy Who Cried Moth

There is a kid next door.  A child about 7 years old.  This child screams.  He screams at moths and mosquitos because, to him, every mosquito is a monster and every moth is trying to kill him. “OH MY GOD! 

How Will I Know When She’s Inviting Me?

How Will I Know When She’s Inviting Me?

“When are you coming to bed, Chris?” she asked wearing only a robe. “I’ll be there in a second, I just have to finish this.” … 10 minutes later … I walked into the bedroom and she was on top

%d bloggers like this: