For once in their marriage, he listened to her patiently. Sitting down, she started to pour out her heart, right in front of his tombstone.
I put her things in a box. Notes, letters, photos. A lock of my hair. I wanted it to last forever but they sealed the casket yesterday.
After he retired, Hal spent his mornings on the cement stoop outside his two flat. One day, he saw God walk by. He looks good, he thought.
The angry gray storm wanted little Jesse. An oak tree by the shed was an ideal bat. A 90 mph gust did the trick. Job done, it moved on.
The day momma died, I took her perfume from the bathroom. It felt like stealing. I smell it. For a brief moment, I think she’s alive.
She’d given him a kidney years ago. Now she needed a heart. He called 911, told them everything they needed to know, & pulled the trigger.