travel
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It’s Friday, which is supposed to mean something—and I suppose it does, to those people. The ones I imagine still belong to the Thank-God-It’s-Friday congregation. Their voices rise like smoke from a distant fire I can no longer smell. But at fifty-seven, when there’s so little left to kill, Friday arrives like fog along a…
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Have you ever loved a photograph? Not the person.The paper. Corners curled.Edges yellow.Your fingerprints pressed into it—again, again. A relic.A prayer. Flat image—yet it breathes.Two into three.Three into somethinguntouched by time. I fall inside.Invent the dialogue.Score the silence.Make the light softerthan it ever was. The picture forgiveswhat memory could not. I keep too many.They hold…
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from, Chapter 4: Walnut Season It starts like this: the end begins with the cards. For years, I kept my life organized on 3×5 index cards—neat, white, lined. They lived in small gray boxes stacked on chrome wire shelves above the kitchen sink. Stainless, or trying to be. Twenty boxes, two deep, three high. A…
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I grew up in that age when television screens stretched anywhere from a 13-inch “personal” set to a 28-inch family behemoth. In our house, we had one TV—24 inches, rabbit ears on top, wood panel sides, and a dial that clicked its way from channels 2 through 13 on VHF. Channel 3 was just snow,…
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Favorite Brands? Let’s Get Real When I saw today’s prompt about favorite brands, my mind did a quick catwalk strut to the usual suspects: Hermès, Gucci, Rolex—those high-end logos that scream “I’ve made it!” (or at least fake it ‘til you make it). In my younger, slightly delusional years, I’d splurge on stuff I couldn’t…
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Today’s writing prompt: Have you ever been camping? I woke up tucked inside a sleeping bag in the back of a 1974 Ford LTD station wagon — the original lowrider SUV, if you ask me. The back seats folded flat, creating a makeshift bunk where my six-year-old brother was snuggled to my right, and my…
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Fiji, 1980s. The sun’s a smug bastard, grinning down, reminding me it’s summer here while Los Angeles shivers. Waves lap at the shore, warm as a lover’s whisper, every thirty seconds or so. I’m eighteen, cocky, standing in nemo-print trunks—pre-movie, mind you, maybe I inspired Pixar. Signed up for this swim-snorkel-underwater-cave deal. Sounded like a…
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Music prompt mind, Six months in a leaky boat. Cruising down the freeway—feeling that fleeting “free” way vibe—I had Split Enz’s “Six Months in a Leaky Boat” blasting through my speakers. The wind was whipping, the lyrics were hitting, but as usual, my brain played its favorite game: swapping out half-heard words for whatever nonsense…
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Morning crashed in like a drunk stumbling through my door—too damn soon. I squeezed my eyes shut, faking sleep, hoping the dark would swallow me back. Didn’t work. My head flickered with the big shit—the kind that jolts you awake at 3 a.m., all jagged edges and no mercy. I told myself it was just…
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Give me the steel rails humming beneath, my head against the cool window, watching the rolling landscape unfold like a living movie reel. In this theater of motion, I become both scriptwriter and audience. The countryside slides by frame by frame, and I craft stories from each passing scene. A train offers a rare symphony…
BB Grey--musings 