The Shoe, Part Three
By the time Dirk sat in an interview room at the Charlottesville police station, two hours had passed since the delivery truck disappeared from the alley. Much of that time had been spent telling the story—first to a uniformed officer at the scene and then, in greater detail, to Detective Quinn, the broad-shouldered man who…
The Shoe: Part Two
Fifteen years ago, I left a man named Dirk suspended two stories above a Charlottesville alley with one shoe, a woman he had met only hours earlier and a restaurant employee smoking beneath them. It was not particularly kind of me. The post was called “The Shoe”, and it began with a green suede sneaker…
The Things We Say To Rocks
Yesterday I found myself talking to rocks. They did not answer, which was probably best. They had already made their position clear. My friends Terry and Nancy joined me for a trip into the Beartooth Mountains. We drove through Red Lodge and began climbing the Beartooth Highway, a road that seems determined to demonstrate just…