Some of my first memories of giving, or rather receiving, are of my grandfather giving me candy. My grandfather always pulls treasures out of his droopy pants, wide and concealing like a magician’s cloth. Under this cloth hides his shockingly thin body, as well as the timeline of the rather ritualistic candy distribution, always managing to
A great many years ago – or maybe not so long ago – I’ll leave it to you to determine – it was decided, quite against my will, that I would take the Number Fourteen bus to school. The bus was a great beast of a thing. It rattled deafeningly as it struggled over mud-covered
I walked in on the dog in my room staring at himself in the mirror. His nose was right on the surface and he was just staring and doing nothing else. When he heard me come in the room, he looked around, appeared to be embarrassed, as did I.
Going to school these last few months has been like watching the last grains of sand in an hourglass slowly trickle into the bottom bulb, and I’ve been racing against time, trying to make the most of even the most mundane parts of campus and campus life.
I close my eyes and pinch my nose closed as I take the sardine between my teeth. There is a wet squoshing sound, like a muddy boot tracking on carpet, as I grind the unfortunate specimen between my back molars, doing my best to guide its wet flesh away from my taste buds.