by John Goggin
Memory is shards, just broken pots and bones hidden under the ashes, middens littering the shore of the common sea; memoir is mostly archeology.
From 30 some years ago…

One early March  afternoon, a raft of co-recreants is horsing around the big dining room table. Outside, it’s bitter cold, there’s rime on the branches, [...]

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by Stan Raines
Joel Humphries and I will put on our big hats this afternoon and head out to Harley’s for the big Friday fish fry and try out our country and western repertoire (can you use that word with “country and western”?). Come on out and eat some fish and enjoy the music.
Harley’s is located [...]

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From Gene’s Notebook
…and she drives up and turns around in the oil-splattered parking lot, where he’d worked all day under big trucks; he gets in, and gives her a quick kiss, greasy man, clean woman …and off in the glaring lights of the store, faces and faces, real and unreal, the light, the rush to [...]

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