by Gil Hoy On those windswept weekday mornings, asphalt driveway crusted with snow, my father would get up early, put on his secondhand boots and an old coat, and exit through our front door into the blue hour to get the motor running. That fifteen-year-old station wagon would stall if…
by Tobie Shapiro The man had been tearing through the closet in ten-minute sessions of escalating deranged frenzy. The woman observed with decreasing detachment. “Honey. Stop.” His argument: “If I quit now,” he looked up with obsession in his eyes, “all this was an embarrassing waste of time. If you…