Icy wind stretched the full 250 miles separating Savannah from Spartanburg, but that was more the fault of my means of conveyance than it was some kind of force majeure.
During my mid-twenties, I worked a cruddy job in a call center. The company was great and the people with whom I worked couldn’t have been nicer, but
My first attempt at literary writing occurred at nine years old.
What follows is an accounting of nearly 50 years of football fandom, if it can be called that.
I did not know my paternal grandfather very well. That was partly due to geography, and partly due to the fact that he rarely spoke around me.
I am sitting in a diner, listening to Miles Davis’s 1987 album, Music From Siesta. I was managing a record store in Savannah when this album was released three decades ago. Thirty […]
It wasn’t a house yet, just a bare skeleton waiting for someone to make it into one.
If it’s not my first memory, it’s certainly close.
Colleen Goodwin and Michelle Brown were best friends, and two sides of my second grade love triangle. They looked remarkably alike in a coarse sense: both brown-eyed, black-haired girls in knee socks […]
(I wrote a handful of pieces for a Why It Matters manuscript that I never posted here.