EN

At 11:25 on a rainy Tuesday night, I handed my unlocked phone to a teenager at a gas station off I-90.

The espresso was still too hot to drink when Marcus Webb stepped out of the coffee shop on 4th Street

I run a small mentoring shop out of a converted garage in Bend, Oregon — three of us, a coffee habit

The suitcase hit the floor with a dull thud, the wheel jammed against the doorframe of the apartment

The salon smelled like hairspray and lily-of-the-valley, and outside the window a July storm was hammering

Marlene Cobb had signed the loan application for her son-in-law's transmission shop eleven years

I check people in at Dr. Hartwell's office three days a week, which means I've seen just about

I've been a notary public for nineteen years, working out of a strip-mall office between a nail

I held my grandson for the first time on a Tuesday in April, in a hospital room in Dayton, Ohio, with

"Danny, have you seen my work boots?" Mark stuck his head out of the hallway closet, sock feet