Jeff Oaks: My Father’s Feet
Among the things I was afraid of inheriting from my father, his snoring and his high-arched feet were the most frightening. At night, in moonlight, terrifying. His feet all his … Continue reading
December 22, 2016 · 1 Comment
Jeff Oaks: Out of fragments, always
When I drive her home one night, a friend whose house I’ve only been to once is amazed that I remember how to get there, and I admit that some … Continue reading
November 29, 2016 · Leave a comment
