It’s those age lines by the side of my eyes. You know the ones. Someone less squeamish might just outright call them wrinkles. They creep like crow’s feet, like little rivers depicted on maps, like branches on leafless trees left barren during the winter months. They weren’t there yesterday. At least I didn’t think that...

I bought a car last weekend. It’s black and low and sleek and shiny with chrome bits. It’s a two-seater convertible lowered to the ground, black leather interior, silver-low-profile-mags with a CD player. I bought it off of Craig’s List from a guy in Santa Cruz. Like some clandestine drug deal I had to go...