By Brigitte Whiting Saturday mornings, Eve and Jim shopped for houses. They’d driven since early morning following the map she’d marked with sticky tabs. Each had been a no, again. Some were too perfect, uninviting. Others, plain, functional as they…
By: Bob Kalkreuter It was almost midnight when they drove through town. The wet asphalt glistened red, then green in the moonless wash of the traffic light. Above, rain-swollen clouds roiled and grumbled like an upset stomach. Paul drove while…
By: Josie Rozell Recognition Nothing fancierthan the sound of your own blood.Take your handand touch yourself; go on— what you feelis your own skin; the kin you bearday after day.Look at it. A million shades of sunin every corner. That…