So Grievous a Transgression

My dad’s beeper was designed to draw atten­tion to itself: if it didn’t make loud sounds, he’d never know when to go put out fires. It was also hard to ignore because it was the size of a small brick, and because it had a shiny but­ton on it I was for­bid­den to press. […]

Smoke in His Eyes

Some­body asked for some fic­tion. This is dusted off from the col­lege days.

I stood at the base of the fire tower on Ren­dezvous Moun­tain, head tilted into the late morn­ing sun, watch­ing Dad climb. Was the sway of the …

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