essay - In The Pines (Page 2)

A can of Shiner Prickly Pear beer sitting on a battered picnic table on a beach overlooking the gulf of Mexico

commentary

Obituary Beer

Right now I have Dos Equis in the fridge. An imported Mexican lager is fitting I guess. Dos Equis is by no means a “special” beer but it's crisp and cold and there, which makes it about as good as a beer gets.

A dimly lit, sagging, shelf full of liquor bottles.

memoir

Barrooms: (Crescent City Chapter 2)

It was mellower somehow, almost melancholy. It’s only recently that I’ve recognized it for what it was, a type of therapy, a crutch, or maybe a helping hand as we transitioned out of military service and faced our future.

A bedside lamp shins dim light on an empty bed in an otherwise dark bedroom

essay

Dark Night

The room was still too bright and too hot and too loud and the world outside of it was still too dark, but laying there, thinking about the first act of our lives it felt like…man even now I don’t have the words…

Three young men walk down a fog shrouded night street. The one on the far left is looking back at the camera.

memoir

The Cast: (Crescent City Chapter 1)

When I was a young man I wandered the streets with my friends, making our way from bar to bar, always searching for a girl someone knew, or a buddy who should be out, always finding someone, though it was rarely who we were looking for.

A white man in blue jeans, a blue and white striped shirt and a blue and red baseball cap is hand feeding a wallaby

memoir

How Not to Lose Your Virginity in Australia (Vol 1?)

Sorry mom.

A black mutt with white on his chest and paws sits in the sun on a dirty back porch.

commentary

A Black Dog in the Sun

I couldn't help but shake my head. "You motherfucker..." Jack just looked at me with big sad eyes and wagged his tail. "Whole goddamned world is falling apart and you're just sitting in a sunbeam." If a dog could shrug Jack would've.

A pair of blue jeans and black, pointed toe, western, cowboy boots on a light brown hardwood floor.

commentary

On Pearl Snaps, Cowboy Boots, and Fascist Pricks

Every interaction was a minefield. I was withdrawn, depressed, the only ray of sunshine was my spouse and kid and good country music on the car stereo. I pulled on those old battered boots of Mister Billy’s and they felt right. They felt like home.

introduction

I Don't Want to Do This (An Introduction)

So here I am. Blogging. Like some pretentious Brooklynite with a trust fund.