Plastic Farm Animals
“Our fickle bodies,” Bob remarked when I showed him my throbbing index finger. “All I did was pull a weed,” I whined, laying the swollen digit back on its bed of ice. Tami saw me minutes after it happened, a purple crease on a pale sausage. She comforted me with “This happens to me sometimes; […]
I’ve lived with Bob long enough to value the importance of good questions. They can make or break any deal, they steer conversations off-course or into fertile waters. Yet, as long as I’ve watched Bob hit the target with artfully-posed questions, the right questions do not naturally compose themselves in my brain. As the baby […]