Short Stories


Three knocks, each one harder than the last.

That was his thing, every time we left for the day. Some days there was even a large pause between each knock. He didn’t think I ever noticed, but I did.


A lively rant…or Why dying makes me pissed at the Living

Being Latino, you can’t talk about ‘it’ unless you first cushion your sentence with a couple of “God Bless Us” and “Que Dios nos Ampare,” followed by twisting the sentence into a life lesson of sorts.