You’re not a firework. Don’t drive lit.

As the light drains from the sky, a single bat flaps toward the crescent moon.

I picked up a cushion from the outside bench and there were hundreds of ant eggs in the space between the boards. Now that the eggs were in the sunlight, the ant colony

I was nearly cut off by a car with Honk if you Love Jesus on the bumper. It was not a small sticker, but vinyl letters that ran the width of the bumper.

I dreamed I was reading The Intestinal Fortitude of Marriage. It was 42 chapters.