Your dad sent you a penny the other day, minted in his birth year.
Between the Covers
One person. Two, twelve, twenty, you can still feel alone in a crowded room if it’s a place you don’t want to be. People say, though, that that’s no way to do the holidays; you’re supposed to Make Merry, even when your heart’s not in it. You’re supposed to feel happy, no matter what – even when, as in “The Dogs of Venice” by Steven Rowley, the Christmas tinsel seems tarnished.
It had to start somewhere.
You don’t have a white picket fence with an adorable gate.
Consider: lost and found.
Boy meets girl. That’s how countless romantic novels and sappy movies usually start. Clumsy boy meets irritated girl, they argue, they split, they realize their love, and violins play.
One thousand, two hundred pounds and four legs.
How ya doing? Everything good? You need anything, something to drink, a plate of food, a hug, just say the word. If you’re here, you should at least be happy about it. As in the new book “Hotshot” by River Selby, there’s a problem if something’s wrong.
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