Dogshit Park – Part Two – Fiction

June 1, 2000

“She slit her wrists over the kitchen sink,” I said. I was shaking uncontrollably; it always happened when I talked about Marcus, which I hadn’t, to anyone, in a very long time. They found her the next morning. She’d deadbolted the door.

Dogshit Park – Fiction

April 1, 2000

The old man was propped up on the sofa, listening to Van Morrison, when I came in through the back door, to “Tir-Na-Nog,” the string section of which made the flesh on my arms prickle furiously.