Shaking Hand

Sometimes, if the dwarf sits quietly enough at his wooden desk under the warm orange glow of his aluminum department store lamp, his mind begins searching across a barren desert for things to write about, and soon an orchestra begins to perform outside the cracked midnight window to his right.

All I Ever Wanted

When Mom found my stash like she had drug dog senses or something, she made a huge deal then called me into her bathroom, my sack in one hand and the cordless in the other, threatening to call Dad, which of course she never did.