Campfire Tales

The reasons I hated the Sioux-Ute dance were sevenfold: 1. The music would be deafening and of the Lil’ Wayne and Jonas Brothers variety. 2. I would spend the evening policing the furtive grindings of 14-year-olds and the night patrolling the camp grounds for secret rendezvous.


A Sun-baked, Star-sanctioned Romance.

On the basketball court, a dewy lacquer coated our skin. The ball slapped between their palms and the floor. I was merely an observer. I followed the ball with my eyes, not my feet. Every bounce, every word, reverberated from the far wall of the empty gym, creating in our ears and in our minds […]