Nate, Hate, and the Illusory Transformative Nature of Glass
Laura Cody ~ 4 min read ~ The first day I met Nate, he told me he was going to kill his dealer. I took it with a grain of salt. I’d been adrift for a while, floating between rock-bottom and moderate dysfunctionality after an epic bender had landed me back in Al-Anon. At forty-two days into recovery, I was keeping distance from my old friends who hung out with my old enemy, the bottle. In fact, the whole reason I was even in Miss Pamela’s Stained Glass Workshop that day was because my counselor said I needed new hobbies and new faces. (That Miss Pamela must’ve offered hefty kickbacks to every…
When You Wish Upon A Cloud
No coverage, not even one bar; the battery was dead anyway. It was still daytime, but there was an overcast and the sky had a perfectly even dullness, so there was no way to tell what time of day it was, much less which direction was north or south or anything else for that matter. A two-lane blacktop road snaked up into the distance and disappeared into some trees, or a forest if you wanted to get technical about it. It also snaked down toward some lumpy hills and disappeared there as well. What sounded like a two-stroke chainsaw could be heard in the distance, but it was impossible to…
