And hello Everyone!!!

It's good to have you. get comfy. Imagine we're in the same room, imagine I'm handing you a cup of coffee, or a beer, or cigarette.
Or soft, fuzzy slippers.
Peruse. enjoy yourselves.
For a submissions and bi monthly mailings of the WWD tiny magazine send an email to
Also Check out The Year That Everyone Died - Season 1- Rich and Free. Complete, in order, hyperlinked internet adventure.
Also check out the WWD reading series here.
Also check out the trailer for Heavy Hands here.
Also Check out the WWD ONLINE STORE
If you want, order a paperback copy of House Of Will on the left side of your screen. or download it digitally for FREE.

good to have you. Stay awhile.
love, world wide dirt

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Revolving Door

My uncle fell in love with a woman in 1984. they moved into an apartment at the downslant of the river edge, it was quiet and smelled like fish. A dead railroad track rotted at the foot of a bridge just across the street.

They cooked together and cleaned and watched movies on TV. They had a dog that died too early of a cancer the doctors could barely explain. She was pregnant once and lost that too. He always promised that things would be OK.

And they drank sometimes and got mean, they drank sometimes and cried while fucking ruthlessly in the bed they shared. Eventually they did not fight. They hardly spoke but talked bittersweet to friends behind the others backs.

It was cold in October of 1994. On a Monday they shared a pot of coffee and he watched football on TV. She cooked dinner. She said she need cigarettes and was going to the corner store. He watched the coat hanger sway as she closed the front door.

She didnt come back to the apartment by the hill. He hears shes in Utah now and eats dinner alone. Every night, from then till now, he lights a cigarette and looks at that front door. He waits for it to open and the coat hanger to sway.

No comments: