The wind was kicking up and there was just a bit of snow rioting from the sky when I found myself driving in my old neighborhood in Dayton. The houses I used to spend the summer scraping paint on? The historical ones? They are still half-scraped, painted kind of purple. I held onto the steering wheel a little tighter because I was cracking up so hard that my laughter was shaking me. It took me slightly too long to find Gina’s house even though she once ago lived right down the street from me. But I found it.We had sushi, and movies, and a cat named Pablo, and Lindemann’s–I cannot stress enough the importance of great company, good people, listening well, being heard, slathering A+D on a mending tattoo, family, drives on the interstate, standing in line for burritos, watching the football game with my father, wrapping presents badly, warm sweaters, bad radio, mismatched socks, cutting the engine for no reason but to stand next to what isn’t there anymore. Every minute of a life mine, and every one truly something. 

my niece Maddie, the sweetpea of the sweetest.

migraine art; cap of sleeve.

A meth head, two monks, and a nomad with a pirate hat. And one huge burrito.  Not just the opening line to a bad joke, but also the summary of my Friday bus trip.