She Heats Our Hearth      We are at “Where Ya At Pizzeria” where New Orleans sophistication turns countrified. Rowena says, “Folks, I’m exhausted and need my rest. John, I have something to talk to you about. Let’s go home.”      ...

The silly minutesrage by like afalling cuckoo clock.Dilapidated dreams arebent and burnt likeautumn leaves.Fuck the cliches.Time hurts, like agaping wound.Hold it close, andvalue every precioussecond.