I love motels. In my adult life, I've finally graduated to an income bracket that allows me to upgrade my lodging options so I could, if I wanted, hole up in fancier digs, with niceties like a pool, all-you-can-eat breakfast, as many pillows as one feels comfortable requesting,
The new and not yet opened interstate was a broad, empty band of fresh white concrete that reared up from around a gentle bend in the distance and disappeared over the next gentle rolling hill, heading down to where the dam penned in the river. We followed the freshly-painted lane
My life in unreliable narrative was started by a territorial gerbil and a panicked need to explain why I emerged bloodied from the kindergarten bathroom, hoping to hide my shame about surrendering to crass temptation and willfully ignoring the “DO NOT TOUCH THE GERBIL” sign in large and well-articulated handwriting
This is Last Night I Dreamed I Was You, a new venture by Joe B. Wall, sharing stories, longer narratives (in serial form), and random pieces that would otherwise just hide out in the notebook. I've always loved the serial format, and a formative moment in my young