I've come here to tell my tales, and share my truths.
The Inheritance of Mr. Ronald Donaldson
The empty beer bottle echoed against the hollow fifth of gin as Ron rolled it onto the floor. Focusing on the screen of his iPhone 5, he searched to see what rates his fluids would fetch at blood and sperm banks, hoping to come by quickly - with a poke or a pull - the $767 he needed. It was Wednesday, the 29th of the month, and if he did not pay the rent, his landlord had promised him, his “ass would hit the curb.”
Our Nostalgic Collective
The classic ride parked in the carport of a mid-century home at the top of a well-watered green hill. A rundown gas station, desolate, neon glowing in the mist of night. A laundromat full of chrome, empty except for a handsome young man in a white T-shirt, jeans, and red Converse high-tops. The scenes of an America once hailed the world over as prosperous, advanced; an America gone; one that, perhaps, only ever existed in our imagination.