By Shaun T. Griffin
Marooned in the Rio, the drunks asleep at the tables,
a pit boss climbs the slow rope to obscurity,
and my friend hangs on his eggs at the bar. The southern
wind tosses the breath of books like sand. Would that they
be read like the two women stumbling the revolving door behind me,
a twelve pack of Miller Lite in their arms, the last refuge of pain
on Saturday night.
By Christina Barr
The New Year has begun in earnest - filled with meetings, emails, and deadlines - and I confess that I am having difficulty recovering from my holiday break of sloth-like pajama days filled with generations of traditions, friends, good food, board games, and puzzles. Autumn is my favorite time of year for being out and about, but winter is for delicious hibernation. In Reno, we've been subsumed with snow, which has helped create a sense of tucking in, but I'm actually very excited about the year ahead.
