This is more or less how it usually happens…

You don’t come across the tent. You see it from over a mile away. Your first glimpse of it is when you ride past the crest of whatever miserable excuse for a hill this part of Nevada has to offer today. There it is, a giant Easter egg, striped white and yellow on the outside and full of crap on the inside.

As you get closer, you begin to notice the signs inviting you to “be a witness” or asking if you’re “looking for hope”. In three or so days, those signs will be gone.

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On Why We Can’t All be Buzz Aldrin

Nancy handed me a sparkler because I wouldn’t stop complaining. It worked for a while too. As I waited patiently for the larger fireworks, I watched the tiny bursts of light from the sparkler fade into the air around me. It wouldn’t have been so bad if anybody wanted my help, but Peter was spacing out into a cup of coffee, counting and recounting the fireworks, while Nance flirted mercilessly with a boy from the neighboring campsite. Watching her adjust her shirt into oblivion was making me sick, so I focused more on the myriad shining creatures leaping into the night.

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An Ordinary Life

(in fictional Craigslist posts)

Missed Connection: The girl who nailed me in the auditorium

You were hanging fliers in the Corman Auditorium at Tufts. I was building a set. You handed me a nail and sang really loudly to my radio. I’ve never known anyone who could get the high notes to “More Than A Feeling”. If you see this, meet me at Phoenix Landing on Thursday night. Karaoke. I’ll be the one struggling my way through an ACDC song.

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