The table of Christian Things.
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On some mornings, as I’m entering the Town That Was, aka Scooba, I have a small (though at one time it was) visual delight, usually, to my right, just as I bump over the railroad tracks, situated all alone in front of what may very well be a defunct fire station. And this is what my small (though at one time it was) visual delight consists of: a faded tent, no doubt purchased “as is,” from some desperate funeral home, I imagine. Beneath the tattered green fabric sits a cheap a la Fred’s-Giving-Away-the-Store-again! plastic table precariously atop four brittle fold-out legs. Adorning this table is a...
I called her Margaret Alice and her awkward daughter Michelle.
Sometimes, I dog sit. It's just for a precious handful of close friends, as I've never been one to necessarily want the responsibility of caring for living things. Especially those that drool (which includes not only dogs, but also babies, and some elderly people).
I love better at an arm's length.
This morning, though, I was tending to K.P.'s dogs, she was away on business, and it's really a very simple set-up. I've done it several...
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