Story Shot 1, by Brian R. Wright  PDF Version, 21 October 2020

Brief handoff with the ex today, following my monthly chiro adjustment—now that’s a story for later, especially now hip deep in the season of covtardia,[1] with all the rotundo, snippy, old Karens watching and snitching on everyone, esp. businesses not taking masks and the other bizarro rules seriously—, Floei’s sweet, on time, lives a few miles away in same burb as the chiro, that would be Troy, Michigan. I’m giving her a flower pot, she’s got a bag for her sister up in Okemos whom I visit more often than she does.

We mostly have the kind of post partum where we try to help each other.

My idea: we decide to meet in the lot of the still-Unitarian-but-heading-toward-a-terminally-upper-middle-class-suburban-white-guilt-denouement (a Black Lives Matter service on the marquis) big ol’ barn style church where my brother was married… RIP, at a too-young 57. The betrothing ceremony would have been back in, what, the early 1980s? Continue reading →