The Scarab

One night in Portland OR, (I was about 3 or 4 – so, like roughly 1962-63) as Mom was closing up the bookstore to head home, a big storm blew through, knocking down trees and blowing in windows. Just as she’s locking the door, this guy shows up. He had rolled into town a few…

It’s Just Lunch – Metanarrative

Sixth in a series [gs *] As I’ve said elsewhere, this story unveils itself subtly, in layers. You might just have a nagging sense of confusion at this point. What is this woman’s problem? Why is she such a bitch? Why is she so stupid? Words or deeds don’t line up, lack of clarity about meanings,…