The phone rings…

Man’s best friend, for me, is more of a peripheral acquaintance…

I find it every weekday printed on the back page of amNewYork, the subway paper…

“Wow, I was really hoping for granite…”

I lumber across the aged parking lot, delicately navigating the landscape of cigarette butts and empty ketchup packets…

I handed my license to the weathered yet cordial cashier in quiet anticipation of her response…