It’s raining outside, sheets of rain coming down, drowning everything. I’m reading verses about peace and comfort and a future, but none of it is making any sense today.
“My help comes from the Lord.”
“He will not allow your foot to slip.”
“The Lord will protect you from all evil.”
“I will make up to you for the years the swarming locusts have eaten.”
It’s all pretty frustrating right now.
I saw a woman the other day and it looked like she was having to blow through a tube to propel her wheelchair down …

I sat in the back seat of the truck’s cab, where i could see Hank’s hands, where I could either strangle him or dive out of the truck if he pulled out a gun, depending on how brave I felt.

“It’s coming up, on the right,” Hank said. “Just past that telephone pole.”
We pulled into a dirt driveway and passed a few single-wide trailers.
“That one,” he said, pointing to one in the back.
Phillip parked in front of the door and killed the engine.
Why did he turn off the engine?

Why do I look at another woman’s legs and sometimes see the tiny scar on hers?
“Tell me the story,” I used to say, my fingers brushing over it.
“It’s from a roller skating accident when I was a kid.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you ask me about it?
“I just like to think about you roller-skating when you were a kid.”
I can remember the way the light reflected differently off that small patch of skin on Caroline’s thigh, as if off of smooth plastic, but I can’t fucking remember which leg it was …

I never sleep. The three of us have opposite schedules, and I have no walls. My loft is also their home office.
Nick bought a two-bedroom condo for him and his fiancé. Then he called off the wedding. His best friend, Geoff, moved into the spare room and they offered me the loft.
“But I hate that part of Charleston,” I said.
“I’ll only charge you $200 a month,” said Nick.
“How about this: Instead of me living there I’ll give you $200 a month, buy you a shovel, and let you beat the …