Perhaps they found another way. Perhaps they could stop. Perhaps they just go to church. What I wouldn’t give to possess their simple freedoms. (nonfiction)
Category: Nonfiction
There is a small Italian restaurant two blocks from my house in Inner N.E. Portland. It’s been there for decades.
(nonfiction)
You spend the winter telling me it’s almost summer.
(nonfiction)
We don’t know names, on our street.
(nonfiction)
“Chicago has nothing to be ashamed of in comparison with New York.” (nonfiction)
I loved her. But I never, ever felt close to her. The few times I tried to speak honestly to her as I struggled to understand how I’d come to see the world as I did, she was so hurt that it would have been cruel to persist.
(nonfiction)
In the city that some used to call the Seattle of Italy, nowadays you can only overdose on poetry.
(nonfiction)
“What have they been feeding you in here?” I ask.
“A bunch of bullshit!”
(nonfiction)
So here I am writing about it in America.
(nonfiction)
As children under Nixon and teens under Reagan, first-wave Generation Xers like myself have spent our lives watching the rout of the political left from power. Progressive reforms from the New Deal and Great Society were dismantled piecemeal to enrich a profiteering few.
(nonfiction)
