The smell of rain humidified the air. I hit snooze twice, three times. I’m convinced rain in Los Angeles should be considered a snow day, a break from routine, from working hard, a day to stay under the blankets. Even Gladys didn’t want to undo the tight ball of her sleeping body. Contemplating a fourth snooze, I heard a knock on the door. Doubtful it was my house, I rolled over. Another knock disturbed the chilled room. What the hell do the neighbors want at 8 a.m.? I dragged myself out from the depths of my comforter and headed to […]
Death of a Spouse
Memories of Flowers on a Rainy Day
Tuesday, August 30, 2011