Last Friday, I went to see my grandmother. Growing up I didn't find it funny that our name for her, Popo, was pronounced how some people say dad or grandfather.

Even though her hair was wispy and mostly gone and her speech was much more slurred, she stil…

I watched as a deep, dark, gulf widened between two people leaning against the same Honda Civic. Papers had been served, the process of divorce started. It wasn't too late to stop but it was too late to stop without consequences. My sister's whole body wa…

It's difficult to grow up. Shoot, it's difficult to even figure out what that means. I suspect that the act of growing up is rooted in pain. Pain that is unfair, unique to you, callous, and solely your responsibility. From the white-hot shard of ice whose…

Story is marked as mature

Heading to Starbucks for some writing, I turned on to Fernando Valley Road. It was one of those four lane roads where the city speed limit is upped to fifty. Across the median, I saw an old man on foot. Behind him a blue van sat defeated on the shoulder. …

“Why are you kicking me out? What did I do?”

Jack wouldn't quite meet my eye, staring just past my shoulder. He looked so pathetic standing there, shoulders slumped, hands stuffed in his pocket. I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

I didn't respond though…