Mitch’s Fine Stew

Some of you don’t know that I was a cop for twenty-two years and then I got out. I didn’t love the job, but there’s a couple or three things I miss. I’d be on a call, for example, and there’d be too many of us officers hanging about to really do much good for anyone, and then I’d see this one old cop called Mitch, who kind of resembled a potbelly stove in his uniform—all black—bodied and round, hanging back and just taking the whole scene in. Then he’d get this wry expression around his eyes and mouth, and he’d just shuffle back away from the crowd, get in his car, and beat it the nearest way out of there. Continue reading “Mitch’s Fine Stew”

Music for a Revolution

My forefathers saturated what were once pristine fields of this great nation with the blood of British regulars. It’s a fine proud history for the birth of any republic. The French did it differently. The French stormed a fortress guarded by old soldiers who had been permanently disfigured in combat. The French rounded up every fop with a patch and powdered wig and made them kneel under a blade. Continue reading “Music for a Revolution”

The Truth About Mouse Holes

Do any of you have a house with one of those arch-shaped mouse holes in the floorboard? If you do, don’t ever reach into it. You won’t get bit by a mouse if that’s what you’re worried about. On the contrary, you’ll find the sensation of the mouse’s soft fur very pleasing against the tips of your fingers—so pleasing that you’ll never want to stop petting the delicate follicles. You’ll refuse food and water until you shrivel up to the point where you can physically pass through that tiny archway.

When you slide in on your belly, the first thing that you’ll notice is the odor. That’s because you have mildew in the crawlspace. I’m sorry, but you’ll grow accustomed to it. The next thing you’ll realize, once your eyes adjust to the dark, is that what you’ve been petting is a faux mouse-fur throw, draped carelessly over the back of a wee handcrafted leather Chesterfield that sits in front of a hearth with smoldering logs. If you’re hungry, you’ll have to figure out which morsels are cheese and which are arsenic. Continue reading “The Truth About Mouse Holes”