I call Portland my home, even though I don't see it often.
Some prose and short stories.
The Toll Of Tipping
A casual conversation with anyone working front-of-house in the restaurant industry will solidify a known ideal; these workers rely on their tips to survive. An offhanded suggestion that the industry should do away with tipping would no doubt be received with an onslaught of objection and rightfully so. For decades tipping has grown from a small optional bonus for a job well done, to a mandatory shame-inducing ritual that is harmful to patrons, restaurant owners, and especially servers. To ensure the wellbeing of service industry workers and restore the integrity of restaurants, the United States must replace toxic tipping culture with a livable wage for employees.
Oxxo & The Tiger
If you want to buy booze, cigarettes, juice, or any other item of convenience in Puerto Vallarta, you go to Oxxo-- Oxxo stands for kisses and hugs, my verdict on that irony is still out. Tristan and I gathered our usual assembly of Don Julio and friends to accompany us on our way back to his apartment. As we walked to the counter, the woman standing behind a plexiglass barrier gave an uneasy nod to the man working beside her.
As Megan and I drove to game night we talked casually. Her car had an empty paper bag on the floor and an orange phone holder attached to her air vent that looked like a cartoon character. Megan had just colored her hair a deep chocolate brown. Her hair changes colors with the frequency of Ramona Flowers and I love her for it. She wears glasses that match her face and clothes that move with her body.
I've died twice over, leaving fragments of once before to reassemble. I have toes left to stub and a stepfather to love.
Bolt Bus: Ellen Sleeps
I wear boots They clunk and caress They carry me Until the soles wear thin And one erodes More than the other On that side
A pigeon hit my hand today As he flew up I could feel A small soft head, Bump and brush my knuckles. And quick wings took him away
I am eye socket candy Raging, vacant Sweet. Mind shut legs open Chest splinter Into what looks like Regular Maybe if I hold my head
- Winner of True Colors Challenge
This is what love looks like. A pink secret my mother held in her cheeks When she told me she loved Three women A lifetime ago.