Dick Jarvis, chemist of the party, shivered as he looked up from his notebook. “I’d just as soon spend it in a liquid air tank!” he averred. “These eighty-below zero summer nights are plenty for me.”
When I came here a month ago, the intake guard told me I’d sit here in prison for the rest of my life and pay for my sins. I can’t imagine life after lunch, let alone 40 years. It hurts my skull just thinking about it.
By Melanie S. Wolfe I was at the hobby store Michael’s this morning, looking at fall decorations and on one of the endcaps sat this paint-by-number of a Dalmatian. Instantly it became hard to see as my eyes filled with sweet sorrow and I ran my fingers over the dog’s face, it was my Gracie.Continue reading “Painting Grace”