-
Despicable Week
His name was Bill, and he meant something. We weren’t close friends, but I enjoyed Bill’s presence and appreciated his gentle, self-deprecating manner. The last time I saw him, he was walking with a cane, like I do now in the evenings when Jinx and I go for walks. He always had a smile and a shrug and a clear, blue-eyed gaze of friendliness and curiosity. He died a few days ago. An observant neighbor, noticing that a yard-putterer like Bill hadn’t been outside on a fine, mild November afternoon, went to his door to investigate. She found Bill in his bed, and the medical examiner later determined that he’d…
-
Bandito
I stood out in the back yard this morning just before dawn, looking up at the gourd birdhouses and listening to the gradual crescendo of birdsong as the eastern sky brightened by degrees. I thought back to yesterday, a singularly grueling day, wasting my finite hours in the company of people with whom I have nothing in common, hours in which I was forced to work with my alleged “supervisor,” a younger woman so vapid, so mean-spirited, so coarse, so comprehensively ugly that I am tempted to think I live and breathe under God’s curse. But such thoughts make me recoil with that familiar jerking reflex action. You’re not…