Stories Worth Telling. Rollick.

Hazel met Andy at a party on an 84 degree night when she was 23 years old. She showed up 45 minutes late on purpose, and the living room was already full of people.

How do you photograph silence? Is it represented by an empty room? A sleeping baby? A seascape? Such photos may lend a sense of quiet to the onlooker, but in reality, such scenes are not silent. 

The listing requires dimensions, and so there is the inevitable internal struggle. Laziness. Disorganization… Cannot find the measuring tape. Can she guess its proper size? The dresser comes to her chest. 


Improv class was how
I learned to say what
I wanted to say to you–

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This became routine for my summer mornings, mornings succeeding evenings of drinking where you all but convince yourself the following day it isn’t part of a bigger problem, how alcoholism is an antiquated term for something you clearly don’t have.

He’s the sweet taste of strawberries on fluffy shortcake, with eyes that reflect an enormous 

Heart that’s displayed prominently on his sleeve.

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Angie was the type of car people kept in antique store backyards ‘cause they thought she looked cool, “There ain’t nothing like a Classic Chevy.” My dad had a thing for cars so he bought her for a grand and put the rest of his cash into fixing her up. He did it until he died, lung cancer, and then Angelica was mine.

“I’m thankful I’m not a horse,” Marla says, as she reaches for the saltine sleeve inside her tote bag.

Marla says weird shit like this all the time. She’s the kind of person who thinks everything she says makes complete sense, even though she begins stories in the middle. 




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