By Benjamin J. Chase Sometimes I spend an afternoonon those half-padded seatsfacing glass panelsin the arrivals section,as if at the movie theater,to watch the droves of peopleentering my life. It’s cheating, I know, a way to stealan expectant glancefrom a stranger who might mistake me,for an instant,as a friend. But…
by Richard Adams Carey I remember my mother being an atheist about the aging process. “I don’t feel any different,” she would protest as the decades marched on. She didn’t deny the aches and pains, which she did feel, and which were different. It was more a mental thing, a…
