Then Weymouth hopped off the stool, dragged it back over to the counter at the no-longer-boarded-up plate-glass. Connie stood, reached for Weymouth’s hand, and they turned and walked back out the coffee shop’s door.…

“Try these on for size,” said Weymouth, “maybe crank over those napping brain cells.” —– They took turns: “It took me a long time to find out about money. You either have it or…

Weymouth clears his throat, but it’s Connie saying, “Did you hear the one about the guy who strolls into the Monday morning credit union and has his credit card shredded? Because his life is…

Weymouth looked down at me. “We hear you’re looking to rent a place over in the Northeast,” he said, “in the wealthiest part of town.” I nodded. “Yeah, it’s true. And that would be…

Out from the coffee shop, Friday morning lilacs, white, spring following the kid up the coast. Crossing state lines, sweet April’s faint fragrance. So quiet, even these words conjure hush. And yet, tick tick tick…….…

Strolling down Milwaukie Ave from where I park to the Starbucks I see the huge plate-glass window is entirely boarded up. Yet I continue, and yeah, they’re open and the barista Bekah’s already getting…

Please check this out. This blog space sometimes becomes something like sentient, and comes to me with whispered invitations. Honest. Like just the other day – “Let’s change it up a bit,” the blog…

I scrounged out an old journal from the Camry’s hiding places on my way into Starbucks Sunday morning. At a table I opened it up and came to this entry, dated October 6, 2025:…

“It’s Saturday.” I said to myself in Starbucks Saturday morning. “Friday was yesterday.” Sometimes I have to remind myself out loud what day it is. It’s especially true on Fridays, where I can’t tell…