Map of a Small Town Morning
6:03 — The baker props the door open with a flour sack. The town yawns and smells like cinnamon. 6:27 — The paper carrier pedals past porches,…
The Umbrella We Shared
The rain started the way arguments do—small, then suddenly about everything. I had no umbrella; she had one the size of a satellite dish. “Do you live…
A Letter I Never Sent
I wrote the letter on a train, the kind that rocks you into honesty. The tracks stitched fields together while I tried to stitch sentences. “Hello,” I…
The Coffee Shop That Remembered My Name
The bell over the café door sounded like a coin in a glass jar—small, bright, and a little hopeful. I had been in the city three weeks…
The Night the Bus Broke Down: A True Short Story About Small Kindnesses
It was past nine when the bus groaned, sighed, and quit. The lights flickered; the heater coughed a final warm breath and went still. Outside, the city…