I’m always quick to spell out or clarify my name when it’s asked for. Call it my preemptive strike against the flicker of uncertainty in the barista’s eyes or the note of hesitation in the agent’s voice.
“It was like my whole world filtered through a telescope when I knew you, all I needed was to look your way to think, yes, everything else is far and unimportant.”
“What I wanted to do was ask her if she knew how good she had it: white and pretty and well-to-do and having friends made by her parents from the very beginning.”
“You’ve said I remind you of those deep water high stress fish: cakey eyes, headlights that make sense in pitch nothing but when taken to surface explode.”
The first stone was one I knew. Flaking and grey and dusty. A driveway stone – from my driveway. Who breaks a person’s dining room window with a stone from that same person’s driveway?
“The very first thing he felt was a dulled twinge of fear that breathing seemed to take so much exceptional effort, but even that was killed off very quickly.”
