An American Spirit cigarette hangs from my lips as I step into the cold darkness of the late night, though I suppose one of a different perspective could easily enough interpret it as early morning. I stand under the wooden walkway of the second floor. It acts as a sort of awning, shielding me from direct exposure to the all-encompassing darkness that is night. The lamp to my left ruins the solitude I was hoping to find peace in. I contemplate unscrewing the bulb, so that I may properly enjoy my loneliness. Before I can reach for the bulb, I overhear my neighbors arguing about spoiled pie and stale cake. What’s the point. If not the light, then the noise will slice through the night.Read More
Memoir is the honest recollection of experienced events. These are true tales of things I have seen and done.