memoir
You can see it in the picture. You can see it in that scraggly beard and the too long hair that would never pass on an Army post. You can see it in my drunken smile. You can see it on our baby faces and our too thin bodies.
memoir
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.
memoir
It was just as miserable as my buddy had warned it would be and I was glad I wasn’t hungover. It was only then, as we were flying away, somewhere over the Pacific between Australia and American Samoa, that someone gave me the bad news.
memoir
From my bed I could see into the hallway, and out to the nurses station where a pair of bored looking women in colorful scrubs sat typing away on aging desktop computers. But there was something else. A shadow. Something stalking.
memoir
Sorry mom.
memoir
Beside my bed is a notebook where I jot ideas that come to me in the moments before sleep. On the last page I have written, “THE HOOK IS YOU DON’T HAVE THE FUCKING WORDS TODAY JUST LIKE YOU DIDN’T HAVE THE WORDS 26 YEARS AGO!” It’s true I guess.