My Collection of Short Stories & Published Works
My Collection of Short Stories & Published Works
My Collection of Short Stories & Published Works
My collection of writings and published stories for you to enjoy!
My collection of writings and published stories for you to enjoy!
My collection of writings and published stories for you to enjoy!
Stories Menu
Stories Menu
Changeable as the Weather
Changeable as the Weather
Even without the sun’s tyranny, summer nights in New Orleans are never cool. Clothes cling in the heat of its sultry evenings, revealing form. Movement slows to a deliberate pace. Perspiration glistens. Enticement abounds. He stood before the mirror smoothing his shirt against his damp chest. After inspecting his reflection, he slapped aftershave on his face. Behind his practiced smile was a yearning to be noticed.
The party he worked that night was being hosted for the benefit of the art museum, and held in a grand house on Calhoun Street, which like many in the low-lying city was built a story above the ground. A garden of broad-leafed banana trees achieved an obvious desire for privacy, although it blocked any rare vagrant breezes. The elegant French heirloom furnishings did not convey comfort. Colorful paper lanterns strung from the ceiling of the veranda, and doors and windows open wide, encouraged the guests to flow inside and out on that sweltering August evening.
Betsy accompanied him. She often did. He knew she enjoyed having time together, and he appreciated that she was helpful. The two often made each other laugh. They had been dating for nearly two years. He understood that she would have liked him to make a further commitment, but he was reluctant, perhaps tempted by the prospect of finding someone prettier, more interesting, more aspirational. She had spoken of growing up poor, and of that discounting her worth.
He watched Betsy sweep the wet hair from her forehead before setting empty glasses on the bar strategically positioned at the top of the stairs. Guests were invited to get drinks before perusing the items offered for sale in the museum’s silent auction. The men and women that he and Betsy would serve had been born into money and prominence. For them, confidence was neither an act nor an accomplishment.
He immediately noticed the exuberant young woman with the copper-colored hair. She danced up the stairs with her arms raised high, accompanied by a man at least twice her age. He looked distinguished. And rich. He saw that Betsy had seen her, too. She rolled her eyes as she muttered, “Oh, brother.”
The attractive young woman smiled at him as she passed. Catching her attention felt consequential, perhaps because he wanted it to be. Unsure of what to do next, he focused on handing out glasses of wine to other guests.
The redhead returned and interrupted him. “Might I have one of those?”
“Certainly,” he said. “Red or white?”
She hesitated. He handed her a glass of white. “Read minds, do you?” she said, lowering her gaze after accepting the glass. “That would make you dangerous.” He was flattered; she was flirting. “Perhaps you are.” She sounded intrigued by that prospect. “Then, maybe you already know my name?”
He shook his head. “That would be guessing, not reading your mind.”
She conceded the point with a nod. “I’m Elise,” she replied before taking another sip. “And you are?”
“Merlin.”
She repressed a laugh. “So not a mind reader, but a wizard?” His name often got a reaction of disbelief, if not amusement.
He glanced at Betsy as she placed more glasses to be filled on the countertop. He’d have liked to respond with something playful and clever, but Betsy’s presence inhibited him. At that moment, the gentleman who brought Elise to the party appeared behind her to ask for a bourbon on ice, which Merlin poured and handed to him. The man slipped his hand around her waist and guided her away, whispering in her ear. Her laughter threw Merlin off-balance, as though he had grasped for something that wasn’t there.
While placing unopened bottles into boxes at the end of the evening, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He expected to see Betsy, but it was Elise. “May I give you this?” She dropped a crumpled paper napkin into his hand, and returned to her escort, taking hold of his arm as they walked down the steps. Merlin waited until they were gone before unfolding the cocktail napkin. She had written her name and phone number inside.
On the drive to her apartment, Betsy sat in awkward silence, while Merlin, as he always did, admired the antebellum homes they passed on St. Charles Avenue, reaffirming which he liked the most. “Successful party,” he said as they reached Betsy’s building. “The museum raised a lot of money.”
She turned toward him, her arms folded across her chest. “That girl is pretty, but she won’t make you happy.”
He knew she was referring to Elise. “Who won’t?”
“What’s worse, there’s nothing I can do about it. She’s not the type of person I can compete against.”
“You don’t need to compete with anyone,” he answered. “I cherish our friendship.”
She shook her head and left the car without kissing him. She walked to her building, opened the door, and did not turn around. Betsy and Merlin did not speak after that evening. He was relieved. It gave him an easy way out, although he knew she deserved better. Their two years of intimacy had ended abruptly.
Even without the sun’s tyranny, summer nights in New Orleans are never cool. Clothes cling in the heat of its sultry evenings, revealing form. Movement slows to a deliberate pace. Perspiration glistens. Enticement abounds. He stood before the mirror smoothing his shirt against his damp chest. After inspecting his reflection, he slapped aftershave on his face. Behind his practiced smile was a yearning to be noticed.
The party he worked that night was being hosted for the benefit of the art museum, and held in a grand house on Calhoun Street, which like many in the low-lying city was built a story above the ground. A garden of broad-leafed banana trees achieved an obvious desire for privacy, although it blocked any rare vagrant breezes. The elegant French heirloom furnishings did not convey comfort. Colorful paper lanterns strung from the ceiling of the veranda, and doors and windows open wide, encouraged the guests to flow inside and out on that sweltering August evening.
Betsy accompanied him. She often did. He knew she enjoyed having time together, and he appreciated that she was helpful. The two often made each other laugh. They had been dating for nearly two years. He understood that she would have liked him to make a further commitment, but he was reluctant, perhaps tempted by the prospect of finding someone prettier, more interesting, more aspirational. She had spoken of growing up poor, and of that discounting her worth.
He watched Betsy sweep the wet hair from her forehead before setting empty glasses on the bar strategically positioned at the top of the stairs. Guests were invited to get drinks before perusing the items offered for sale in the museum’s silent auction. The men and women that he and Betsy would serve had been born into money and prominence. For them, confidence was neither an act nor an accomplishment.
He immediately noticed the exuberant young woman with the copper-colored hair. She danced up the stairs with her arms raised high, accompanied by a man at least twice her age. He looked distinguished. And rich. He saw that Betsy had seen her, too. She rolled her eyes as she muttered, “Oh, brother.”
The attractive young woman smiled at him as she passed. Catching her attention felt consequential, perhaps because he wanted it to be. Unsure of what to do next, he focused on handing out glasses of wine to other guests.
The redhead returned and interrupted him. “Might I have one of those?”
“Certainly,” he said. “Red or white?”
She hesitated. He handed her a glass of white. “Read minds, do you?” she said, lowering her gaze after accepting the glass. “That would make you dangerous.” He was flattered; she was flirting. “Perhaps you are.” She sounded intrigued by that prospect. “Then, maybe you already know my name?”
He shook his head. “That would be guessing, not reading your mind.”
She conceded the point with a nod. “I’m Elise,” she replied before taking another sip. “And you are?”
“Merlin.”
She repressed a laugh. “So not a mind reader, but a wizard?” His name often got a reaction of disbelief, if not amusement.
He glanced at Betsy as she placed more glasses to be filled on the countertop. He’d have liked to respond with something playful and clever, but Betsy’s presence inhibited him. At that moment, the gentleman who brought Elise to the party appeared behind her to ask for a bourbon on ice, which Merlin poured and handed to him. The man slipped his hand around her waist and guided her away, whispering in her ear. Her laughter threw Merlin off-balance, as though he had grasped for something that wasn’t there.
While placing unopened bottles into boxes at the end of the evening, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He expected to see Betsy, but it was Elise. “May I give you this?” She dropped a crumpled paper napkin into his hand, and returned to her escort, taking hold of his arm as they walked down the steps. Merlin waited until they were gone before unfolding the cocktail napkin. She had written her name and phone number inside.
On the drive to her apartment, Betsy sat in awkward silence, while Merlin, as he always did, admired the antebellum homes they passed on St. Charles Avenue, reaffirming which he liked the most. “Successful party,” he said as they reached Betsy’s building. “The museum raised a lot of money.”
She turned toward him, her arms folded across her chest. “That girl is pretty, but she won’t make you happy.”
He knew she was referring to Elise. “Who won’t?”
“What’s worse, there’s nothing I can do about it. She’s not the type of person I can compete against.”
“You don’t need to compete with anyone,” he answered. “I cherish our friendship.”
She shook her head and left the car without kissing him. She walked to her building, opened the door, and did not turn around. Betsy and Merlin did not speak after that evening. He was relieved. It gave him an easy way out, although he knew she deserved better. Their two years of intimacy had ended abruptly.
***
***
Throughout late autumn, when cooler temperatures finally penetrated the hold that the heat had on the city, Merlin pursued Elise, taking her to dinner and to dance bars. She might not have come from privilege, but her beauty enthralled him, and he was proud to be seen with her. He enjoyed the attention she brought him. Other women looked at him with greater interest, men with envy.
During the holiday season, Merlin tended bar at various parties and company gatherings. Elise came along, but unlike Betsy, not to assist. She wandered among the guests as though one herself, sampling the hors d’oeuvres and casually chatting with strangers.
Elise moved in with him in January, when the subtropical weather was at its most inconsistent. Crisp breezes from the north competed with the balmy warmth and occasional thunderstorms that pushed up from the Gulf. Days after she settled in, she quit her job working the breakfast shift at a French Quarter restaurant. She made no effort to contribute to their expenses, and expressed annoyance whenever Merlin worried about money. She spoke of wanting to be a newsreader or presenter of traffic reports on one of the local television stations. Said if she never saw another plate drowning in hollandaise, or served another brandy milk punch, it would be too soon.
As the eroticism and excess of Mardi Gras shifted to preparations for the genteel Spring Fiesta, azalea and sweetly scented magnolia burst from hiding. Elise did as well. Merlin rarely found her in the apartment when he returned from work. When he complained, she pouted adorably and expressed disappointment that he didn’t trust her, saying that a truly confident man would have no reason to feel threatened.
Confidence had never been his strong suit, especially after friends cautioned that they had seen Elise behave flirtatiously when Merlin wasn’t with her. One night, he saw her drop a crumpled napkin into the hand of an attentive man at a party. Days later, Merlin returned from work to discover that she had moved out of his apartment without a word of warning. She’d simply vanished, along with her belongings and the cash he kept in the top drawer of his dresser. Though he had considered asking Elise to leave, having her reject him was crushing.
Several agonizing weeks later, Merlin drove across town to Betsy’s modest apartment building on Liberty Street, wondering if life might return to the way it had been. Uncertain whether she would slam the door in his face, he debated how to approach her. Should he ask for forgiveness? Talk about missing her? Apprehensive, he parked, walked to her building, and rang the bell.
Betsy looked better than he remembered, more relaxed, even radiant. She appeared surprised to see him, but not displeased. He asked if they could talk. She invited him in. He sat on her sofa; she sat across from him on an oversized lounge chair. He took a halting breath, sighed, and shook his head. “I owe you an apology,” he said. “I made a mistake. You were right about Elise.”
She maintained eye contact, but said nothing.
“I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I do,” she said with a wry smile.
He hesitated. “I was weak and easily manipulated.”
“And now?” She paused. “What changed?”
He clenched his jaw. “I’ve learned my lesson.”
“What lesson is that?” After watching him struggle to answer, she said, “Why have you come here? What did you think would happen?”
“I was hoping you’d give me a second chance.”
Betsy cocked her head. “I care about you. I do. And I’m sorry to see you this unhappy. But I, too, have learned a lesson. You didn’t want to settle for good enough. I’ve learned that I’m better than that.” She took a breath. “I realized that I shouldn’t have to settle, either.” She was about to say something more when there was a knock on the door. “That would be my friend, Chris. The Radiators are at the Maple Leaf tonight.” She walked to the door. “You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like.” Merlin thought he might have met Chris before. As he stood, he tried to picture what she looked like.
Betsy opened the door and brought Chris into the apartment. He wrapped his arms around Betsy’s waist and gave her an affectionate kiss. In addition to appearing infatuated, she looked slightly embarrassed. “Chris, this is Merlin.”
Chris turned toward him and shook his head. “That’s Merlin? He’s the guy who let you get away?” He gave Betsy a squeeze.
Until that moment, Merlin hadn’t noticed her engagement ring. “I should go,” he said, taking a step backward. “It was good seeing you, Betsy.” Merlin would have liked to say something humorous or at least clever as he walked out of the apartment, but couldn’t think of anything before the door closed behind him.
Throughout late autumn, when cooler temperatures finally penetrated the hold that the heat had on the city, Merlin pursued Elise, taking her to dinner and to dance bars. She might not have come from privilege, but her beauty enthralled him, and he was proud to be seen with her. He enjoyed the attention she brought him. Other women looked at him with greater interest, men with envy.
During the holiday season, Merlin tended bar at various parties and company gatherings. Elise came along, but unlike Betsy, not to assist. She wandered among the guests as though one herself, sampling the hors d’oeuvres and casually chatting with strangers.
Elise moved in with him in January, when the subtropical weather was at its most inconsistent. Crisp breezes from the north competed with the balmy warmth and occasional thunderstorms that pushed up from the Gulf. Days after she settled in, she quit her job working the breakfast shift at a French Quarter restaurant. She made no effort to contribute to their expenses, and expressed annoyance whenever Merlin worried about money. She spoke of wanting to be a newsreader or presenter of traffic reports on one of the local television stations. Said if she never saw another plate drowning in hollandaise, or served another brandy milk punch, it would be too soon.
As the eroticism and excess of Mardi Gras shifted to preparations for the genteel Spring Fiesta, azalea and sweetly scented magnolia burst from hiding. Elise did as well. Merlin rarely found her in the apartment when he returned from work. When he complained, she pouted adorably and expressed disappointment that he didn’t trust her, saying that a truly confident man would have no reason to feel threatened.
Confidence had never been his strong suit, especially after friends cautioned that they had seen Elise behave flirtatiously when Merlin wasn’t with her. One night, he saw her drop a crumpled napkin into the hand of an attentive man at a party. Days later, Merlin returned from work to discover that she had moved out of his apartment without a word of warning. She’d simply vanished, along with her belongings and the cash he kept in the top drawer of his dresser. Though he had considered asking Elise to leave, having her reject him was crushing.
Several agonizing weeks later, Merlin drove across town to Betsy’s modest apartment building on Liberty Street, wondering if life might return to the way it had been. Uncertain whether she would slam the door in his face, he debated how to approach her. Should he ask for forgiveness? Talk about missing her? Apprehensive, he parked, walked to her building, and rang the bell.
Betsy looked better than he remembered, more relaxed, even radiant. She appeared surprised to see him, but not displeased. He asked if they could talk. She invited him in. He sat on her sofa; she sat across from him on an oversized lounge chair. He took a halting breath, sighed, and shook his head. “I owe you an apology,” he said. “I made a mistake. You were right about Elise.”
She maintained eye contact, but said nothing.
“I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I do,” she said with a wry smile.
He hesitated. “I was weak and easily manipulated.”
“And now?” She paused. “What changed?”
He clenched his jaw. “I’ve learned my lesson.”
“What lesson is that?” After watching him struggle to answer, she said, “Why have you come here? What did you think would happen?”
“I was hoping you’d give me a second chance.”
Betsy cocked her head. “I care about you. I do. And I’m sorry to see you this unhappy. But I, too, have learned a lesson. You didn’t want to settle for good enough. I’ve learned that I’m better than that.” She took a breath. “I realized that I shouldn’t have to settle, either.” She was about to say something more when there was a knock on the door. “That would be my friend, Chris. The Radiators are at the Maple Leaf tonight.” She walked to the door. “You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like.” Merlin thought he might have met Chris before. As he stood, he tried to picture what she looked like.
Betsy opened the door and brought Chris into the apartment. He wrapped his arms around Betsy’s waist and gave her an affectionate kiss. In addition to appearing infatuated, she looked slightly embarrassed. “Chris, this is Merlin.”
Chris turned toward him and shook his head. “That’s Merlin? He’s the guy who let you get away?” He gave Betsy a squeeze.
Until that moment, Merlin hadn’t noticed her engagement ring. “I should go,” he said, taking a step backward. “It was good seeing you, Betsy.” Merlin would have liked to say something humorous or at least clever as he walked out of the apartment, but couldn’t think of anything before the door closed behind him.
***
***
Even without the sun’s tyranny, summer nights in New Orleans are never cool. Clothes cling in the heat of its sultry evenings, revealing form. Movement slows to a deliberate pace. Perspiration glistens. Enticement abounds. He stood before the mirror smoothing his shirt against his damp chest. After inspecting his reflection, he slapped aftershave on his face. Behind his practiced smile was a yearning to be noticed.
The party he worked that night was being hosted for the benefit of the art museum, and held in a grand house on Calhoun Street, which like many in the low-lying city was built a story above the ground. A garden of broad-leafed banana trees achieved an obvious desire for privacy, although it blocked any rare vagrant breezes. The elegant French heirloom furnishings did not convey comfort. Colorful paper lanterns strung from the ceiling of the veranda, and doors and windows open wide, encouraged the guests to flow inside and out on that sweltering August evening.
Betsy accompanied him. She often did. He knew she enjoyed having time together, and he appreciated that she was helpful. The two often made each other laugh. They had been dating for nearly two years. He understood that she would have liked him to make a further commitment, but he was reluctant, perhaps tempted by the prospect of finding someone prettier, more interesting, more aspirational. She had spoken of growing up poor, and of that discounting her worth.
He watched Betsy sweep the wet hair from her forehead before setting empty glasses on the bar strategically positioned at the top of the stairs. Guests were invited to get drinks before perusing the items offered for sale in the museum’s silent auction. The men and women that he and Betsy would serve had been born into money and prominence. For them, confidence was neither an act nor an accomplishment.
He immediately noticed the exuberant young woman with the copper-colored hair. She danced up the stairs with her arms raised high, accompanied by a man at least twice her age. He looked distinguished. And rich. He saw that Betsy had seen her, too. She rolled her eyes as she muttered, “Oh, brother.”
The attractive young woman smiled at him as she passed. Catching her attention felt consequential, perhaps because he wanted it to be. Unsure of what to do next, he focused on handing out glasses of wine to other guests.
The redhead returned and interrupted him. “Might I have one of those?”
“Certainly,” he said. “Red or white?”
She hesitated. He handed her a glass of white. “Read minds, do you?” she said, lowering her gaze after accepting the glass. “That would make you dangerous.” He was flattered; she was flirting. “Perhaps you are.” She sounded intrigued by that prospect. “Then, maybe you already know my name?”
He shook his head. “That would be guessing, not reading your mind.”
She conceded the point with a nod. “I’m Elise,” she replied before taking another sip. “And you are?”
“Merlin.”
She repressed a laugh. “So not a mind reader, but a wizard?” His name often got a reaction of disbelief, if not amusement.
He glanced at Betsy as she placed more glasses to be filled on the countertop. He’d have liked to respond with something playful and clever, but Betsy’s presence inhibited him. At that moment, the gentleman who brought Elise to the party appeared behind her to ask for a bourbon on ice, which Merlin poured and handed to him. The man slipped his hand around her waist and guided her away, whispering in her ear. Her laughter threw Merlin off-balance, as though he had grasped for something that wasn’t there.
While placing unopened bottles into boxes at the end of the evening, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He expected to see Betsy, but it was Elise. “May I give you this?” She dropped a crumpled paper napkin into his hand, and returned to her escort, taking hold of his arm as they walked down the steps. Merlin waited until they were gone before unfolding the cocktail napkin. She had written her name and phone number inside.
On the drive to her apartment, Betsy sat in awkward silence, while Merlin, as he always did, admired the antebellum homes they passed on St. Charles Avenue, reaffirming which he liked the most. “Successful party,” he said as they reached Betsy’s building. “The museum raised a lot of money.”
She turned toward him, her arms folded across her chest. “That girl is pretty, but she won’t make you happy.”
He knew she was referring to Elise. “Who won’t?”
“What’s worse, there’s nothing I can do about it. She’s not the type of person I can compete against.”
“You don’t need to compete with anyone,” he answered. “I cherish our friendship.”
She shook her head and left the car without kissing him. She walked to her building, opened the door, and did not turn around. Betsy and Merlin did not speak after that evening. He was relieved. It gave him an easy way out, although he knew she deserved better. Their two years of intimacy had ended abruptly.
***
Throughout late autumn, when cooler temperatures finally penetrated the hold that the heat had on the city, Merlin pursued Elise, taking her to dinner and to dance bars. She might not have come from privilege, but her beauty enthralled him, and he was proud to be seen with her. He enjoyed the attention she brought him. Other women looked at him with greater interest, men with envy.
During the holiday season, Merlin tended bar at various parties and company gatherings. Elise came along, but unlike Betsy, not to assist. She wandered among the guests as though one herself, sampling the hors d’oeuvres and casually chatting with strangers.
Elise moved in with him in January, when the subtropical weather was at its most inconsistent. Crisp breezes from the north competed with the balmy warmth and occasional thunderstorms that pushed up from the Gulf. Days after she settled in, she quit her job working the breakfast shift at a French Quarter restaurant. She made no effort to contribute to their expenses, and expressed annoyance whenever Merlin worried about money. She spoke of wanting to be a newsreader or presenter of traffic reports on one of the local television stations. Said if she never saw another plate drowning in hollandaise, or served another brandy milk punch, it would be too soon.
As the eroticism and excess of Mardi Gras shifted to preparations for the genteel Spring Fiesta, azalea and sweetly scented magnolia burst from hiding. Elise did as well. Merlin rarely found her in the apartment when he returned from work. When he complained, she pouted adorably and expressed disappointment that he didn’t trust her, saying that a truly confident man would have no reason to feel threatened.
Confidence had never been his strong suit, especially after friends cautioned that they had seen Elise behave flirtatiously when Merlin wasn’t with her. One night, he saw her drop a crumpled napkin into the hand of an attentive man at a party. Days later, Merlin returned from work to discover that she had moved out of his apartment without a word of warning. She’d simply vanished, along with her belongings and the cash he kept in the top drawer of his dresser. Though he had considered asking Elise to leave, having her reject him was crushing.
Several agonizing weeks later, Merlin drove across town to Betsy’s modest apartment building on Liberty Street, wondering if life might return to the way it had been. Uncertain whether she would slam the door in his face, he debated how to approach her. Should he ask for forgiveness? Talk about missing her? Apprehensive, he parked, walked to her building, and rang the bell.
Betsy looked better than he remembered, more relaxed, even radiant. She appeared surprised to see him, but not displeased. He asked if they could talk. She invited him in. He sat on her sofa; she sat across from him on an oversized lounge chair. He took a halting breath, sighed, and shook his head. “I owe you an apology,” he said. “I made a mistake. You were right about Elise.”
She maintained eye contact, but said nothing.
“I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I do,” she said with a wry smile.
He hesitated. “I was weak and easily manipulated.”
“And now?” She paused. “What changed?”
He clenched his jaw. “I’ve learned my lesson.”
“What lesson is that?” After watching him struggle to answer, she said, “Why have you come here? What did you think would happen?”
“I was hoping you’d give me a second chance.”
Betsy cocked her head. “I care about you. I do. And I’m sorry to see you this unhappy. But I, too, have learned a lesson. You didn’t want to settle for good enough. I’ve learned that I’m better than that.” She took a breath. “I realized that I shouldn’t have to settle, either.” She was about to say something more when there was a knock on the door. “That would be my friend, Chris. The Radiators are at the Maple Leaf tonight.” She walked to the door. “You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like.” Merlin thought he might have met Chris before. As he stood, he tried to picture what she looked like.
Betsy opened the door and brought Chris into the apartment. He wrapped his arms around Betsy’s waist and gave her an affectionate kiss. In addition to appearing infatuated, she looked slightly embarrassed. “Chris, this is Merlin.”
Chris turned toward him and shook his head. “That’s Merlin? He’s the guy who let you get away?” He gave Betsy a squeeze.
Until that moment, Merlin hadn’t noticed her engagement ring. “I should go,” he said, taking a step backward. “It was good seeing you, Betsy.” Merlin would have liked to say something humorous or at least clever as he walked out of the apartment, but couldn’t think of anything before the door closed behind him.
***
Awards
Literary Award
The Outing” — Winner, Stories Through the Ages Baby Boomers Plus 2022 International Short Story Contest
The Outing” — Winner, Stories Through the Ages Baby Boomers Plus 2022 International Short Story Contest
The Outing” — Winner, Stories Through the Ages Baby Boomers Plus 2022 International Short Story Contest
Editor’s Choice
Counting the Ways” — Editor’s Choice, Ignatian Literary Magazine, University of San Francisco
Counting the Ways” — Editor’s Choice, Ignatian Literary Magazine, University of San Francisco
Counting the Ways” — Editor’s Choice, Ignatian Literary Magazine, University of San Francisco
Social Media
Social Media
Social Media
Social Media
© 2026 Alan Gartenhaus
© 2026 Alan Gartenhaus