It’s too early on the ferry, but here I am, buying champagne for breakfast. The attendant at the bar rolls his eyes, or maybe he’s secretly delighted – it doesn’t matter.
Nonfiction
Thanksgiving
I think that they accept me because I’m the most liable to drive around and knock over mailboxes with a baseball bat in gated communities, then tell them about it with cream cheese covering half my upper lip.
Defying the Gods
Daddy’s post-script is the truth—Mama is beautiful. Her shiny black hair falls to the small of her back. Her impossibly green eyes can set you on your way, or pull you in and draw from you a confession for crimes you have not yet even contemplated.