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Robert Lincoln is 15 years old. Practically everyone calls him Lincoln. Even his mom.He loves Bob Dylan but no other musicians. He likes Henry David Thoreau but no...
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Our daily jog together. At least I like to think of it as our jog. It’s not like we actually run together, but in close proximity in separate universes. It is hard to remember the days when...
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Stop. Let time be still, or at least slow. But do I want it to, as the glass shatters behind him and his eyes widen as he is thrown forward? Do I want this to stop? No. I want it to have...