The Guy in the Shed

He works like a bull dog, running back and forth across my neighbor's yard, his tall and skinny, rail of a silhouette rarely wearing a shirt in our Florida heat, a humid, sticky sort of heat that can easily wear down the weakest among us.

Good Café

I felt like the chicken she just flung out the front. I sat frozen, looking into her ancient, round eyes as I said, “Mama?”

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