my grandpa's dear friend. played poker like a real live hustler, & had a seriously devilish laugh. his voice spoke that he'd smoked like a fiend for years, but there was something tremendously appealing about its timbre. & the jokes it told.
I'm a cook. And I write, sometimes about food, mostly poems. I make stuff. I get lost. I'm worried about vanishing bees, melting icecaps, the decrease of civility in the world, seedless watermelons, and whether there will be enough time for me to get it all right.