The father squatted down on the patch of mud and dead grass. The little boy, maybe five or six, stood beside him, watching closely as his father pushed the metal legs of the stand into the soft earth, which in January should have been bedrock. The father straightened up, stepped back, placed his hands on…
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Brave on Paper
We’re all brave somewhere. I’m brave on paper. A woman friend of mine recently confronted a man on an airplane. This seems equal parts courageous and unadvisable. You’re already sardined into the equivalent of a flying Dairy Whip canister with nothing between one another but flimsy pieces of plastic and a bag containing six off-brand…
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