Author: Lauren Reisner
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Sharpie And Plastic
I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the cool glass of the window. Bus smell, as I’ve come to call it, reached my nose. Usually, it filled me with anticipation. Right now, it reminded me I no longer had a home. And we hit another pothole. “Ow,” I muttered, rubbing my forehead. Pulled out…
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Duct Tape, Nails, And Other Precarious Surfaces
On Knowing I Can Always Find Myself On The Dance Floor Have you ever tried to tap dance on the top of a crate that once transported a painting? Let me be more specific. Have you ever tried to tap dance on a wobbling piece of wood with nails lining the edges? I have. No,…