Hi, and welcome to my humble website. Good news! My novella, 
My Dog, Me, was published in 2019 by upstart Wet Cement Press (www.wetcementpress.com)! It’s also available on Amazon. To whet your appetite here is a sample:
Another cockroach was walking in my red beans and rice. I pinched this one dead, using the plastic bag as a pliers. It crunched. I flushed it down the toilet and went back to the kitchen. No garbage pail. I flushed the red beans and rice down the toilet too.
I walked back to the corner store, bought two Hostess Twinkies and a can of Coke. The owner was from Iraq, Iran, Syria, Egypt, Palestine, or some other country, but mostly he was sleepy. A million insects were beating themselves to death against the streetlight high on the corner, and many millions more had fallen down to their deaths on the sidewalk below. I sidestepped them.
I threw the empty can of Coke into the bush under my balcony. I was tired and would pick it up in the morning. I ate the Hostess Twinkies while walking up the stairs, then there was nothing left.
The streetlight was in my face. Add to list: heavy curtains. I climbed up the blue ladder to the bed by the ceiling. Too fucking hot. I tried opening the window under the bed, but it was stuck. I climbed back up the blue ladder to give the window a tug from above, but it was stuck. I lay down on Darla’s mattress. I turned onto my stomach. I smelled her breath. I turned over onto my back.
Men had come on Darla’s face on the pillow. I sat up fast and scraped my forehead against the ceiling. I had to sleep! I threw the mattress down on the floor and it thumped. I listened for a neighbor to complain. I tiptoed to the window under the bed. I tried to open it again.
“Damn it, Darla! You took the curtain! And the garbage can! And the reading lamp! And the towels! And the broom! Because you knew the caretaker lady had a swollen purple leg and wouldn’t check on you!”
I tried to forgive Darla.
She didn’t steal the curtain and the rest of the stuff. Other people had, before she moved in. Darla had learned to live without them. She’d gotten used to the situation. She was the type of person who didn’t need curtains. She liked big city noises. She needed the glare of a streetlight to fall asleep. She had to have the TV or radio on blaring to fall asleep.
If only I were more like Darla.
