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desert

Short story: <i>The Guardian</i>



I’m the guardian of this place.

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Short story: <i>Billy's Girl</i>



Weasel stood at the bar. His nose pointed to a mean tip like the end of a switchblade, and his eyes had a natural narrowness about them like he had a perpetual cigarette jammed in his mouth and the smoke kept smarting at his eyes.

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Short story: <i>Old Tom's Trailer</i>



I was out in the desert again, looking for flying saucers and gold dust, leastways that's what I told old Tom when I crossed the mangled piece of barbed wire that serves as a boundary line between his place and everywhere else.

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Short story: <i>The blue dress</i>



The last time I travelled on this road, I was hitching.

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