I call him skeeter. That’s what Frank* reminds me of.Actually, with his tweed cap and trimmed beard, Frank reminds me of someone who should be smoking a pipe at an English pub instead of making cornbread at a Jesus Hippie Community. Anyway, he started telling me his story while cracking thirty six eggs. “I was a drug evangelist. I liked … Continue reading Mosquito Theology
“It’s all yours!” She handed me the key to the room, which was slightly smaller than her corset. A few weeks prior, the space was equally as intriguing as her couture, a decorating style I dubbed Italian Cemetery. White plaster gargoyles and figurines were mounted on the walls, adorned with wreathes of dried roses. All … Continue reading No Carpet.
It all started with a dirty doodle. “Ginger, could you come into my office?” the director of the pregnancy center smiled. She was anything but nun-like, with red on her fingernails and a pulled back fro. “Sure,” I smiled. I followed into a musty cubby hole that was the size of a confession booth. A … Continue reading From Doodles to Noodles. (How I ended up on the flipside)