The first time Adharsh told me he loved me was on Mardi Gras Sunday 2013, after the Thoth parade rolled down Henry Clay Avenue, right past my front porch. Brand new strands of beads slithered down the power lines
At 23 years old, I am the motorbus baby, the youngest rider by at least three or four decades on this 60-person tour. I have recently graduated from college in Orlando, Florida, and I have moved back home
The sparrows at Walmart look too fat to fly, so they sit on the tarry cement. They keep close together, next to a slice of bread and a half-smashed French fry
To borrow from Tolstoy, all good mothers are more or less alike. My mother is no exception — having spent a life ensuring her kids got their three squares, presenting a soft shoulder to cry on
I spend a great deal of my time looking and longing for quiet. I am bad at appreciating the mundane, in-between, nonsensical happenings of life because sometimes I simply do not know how to enjoy them. It is a struggle
Next to a table stands a beautiful woman with blond hair and a dark tan, naked except for a Confederate flag wrapped around her chest. She rests one hand on her cocked hip and with the other holds a glass of iced tea. Beneath her
A story about the art of a handwritten recipe and the tasty legacy one Florida grandmother left behind.
by Carrie Allen Tipton Ever since the advent of text messaging several years ago, my mother faithfully sends a peculiar annual dispatch, a yearly version of the phrase “I’m headed to Glory tonight,” hurtling through the ether from her phone in northwest Mississippi
by Robert Iulo My father, who had been to New Orleans when he was in the Marines told us, “The best advice I can give you to make you trip memorable is to find an old time bartender and order a Ramos Gin Fizz"
