Young love, first kisses and the infernal influence of old movies. Or: the dangers of smoking.
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Don Whitman was a high school boy who did a bad and bloody thing. Now the pipe's all filled with cement and the adults tell his name to scare us—all except Mr Gregor: Mr Gregor knows the truth. He told it to me once, with details...
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Some people don't have souls no more. Sometimes they trade 'em away for doing what's right, she said.
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When you are little, your street is your world. One day you leave. When you return, sometimes you cry.
Originally published in Temenos, Central Michigan University's graduate literary journal
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An unexpected telephone call reignites a retired professor's scientific ambitions, but at what cost—and to whom?
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