I found the letter placed on my desk. The envelope had been tidily cut open with a paper knife, its contents, a single sheet, still crisply folded inside. I presumed this was Mr. Cross’s passive way of letting it be known that he’d like to
Tag: Eastlake Style
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I remember fake falling asleep in the backseat of my family’s car, driving home after special nights in Downtown Omaha. Father of Miss Cassette had a number of favored routes that would return us to our home in Benson but his chosen path
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The first time I remember seeing Hanscom Park, I was sixteen. We arrived by car—many of us—having packed ourselves into Someone’s Mother’s Retired Old Boat, one of those enormous, gas-guzzling family cars that was handed down from kid to kid