One last stop, he says. And they drive to Westside Lanes.
I grew up bowling. I don’t want to bowl. It was raining.
We’re not going to bowl, the circus carpet dark with gum
beneath them, and he parts the curtains on the best
photo booth in town. He feeds it the three dollars, Get
in. They somehow share the short ridged stool. In here
we have to tell each other one true thing. You first. Click.
This is the best way I could think to have my arm around you.
Click. Click. Click.
Today, while scrolling through the thousands of Facebook posts that pop-up on my news feed everyday, I came across the No H8 Campaign’s post about today being the Day of Silence.
I think it’s a cute concept. When people are walking around high school with tape over their mouths or simply just…
