Mark Twain once asked who had the sympathy to pray for the devil, but I find it hard to pray for someone that routinely hides my mustard at three a.m.  It’s always a jarring shift, leaving the bar after closing and tapping up the stairs to my loft apartment. The music is no more, and ...

The moon gazed across the horizon, watching them with its lone eye. Stars glittered the night sky, their light falling to the ocean as small waves rolled toward the beach. A sound like thunderous applause erupted when the water clashed with the sand, appreciative of the moment, ill-content with the silence between a boy and ...