Author Archives: Jeff Stewart

The Native down in the corner cell with the shower, I don’t like the motherfucker, and he doesn’t like me. He was getting released in the morning a month back, when a female C.O. walked by and caught him jacking … Continue reading →

Helena, I wonder if you were flesh, what you’d be wearing. I know your hair is long coal, and I know your eyes, already, are turquoise diamond. You usually surround me with ideals. I have a hard time thinking about … Continue reading →

The longest palindrome in the world is Yreka Bakery, but when I pulled off to see it, I saw no designated shop with the signage. Chico and I drove the small streets full with old shops, a piece of culture … Continue reading →

Day 73. The sadness and death bleed from my pores in here. The tears of angels and prison tattoos, the bitter hatred laugh of devils and the hours that absorb me.  All the love and air, the taste of wind … Continue reading →

  A lot of ex-cons and drunks lived in the building.  My room was the corner spot on the 3rd floor.  The old man in the room next to me was deaf.  The girl in the room across from me … Continue reading →

  The desert met us at nightfall in New Mexico, but we had stopped in the Texas Panhandle to look at the stars.  They were bright and close to the desert, dusty and forever, and bulging from their firmaments −swirls … Continue reading →

  The boat was rocking so bad you could run up and down the door frames.  People like to imagine the ocean as being blue and beautiful.  I used to imagine it that way.  When you’re that far out at … Continue reading →

There wasn’t much of a tour to give.  It was a one-bedroom, with a closet connected to the dining room big enough for my bed.  The bedroom was in the back corner and used for my office, which was a … Continue reading →

  We got in the car, dropped Lopez off at his, then I went with Blagg to his dealer’s house, where they sat around and snorted more shit, and the guy across from them pulled out a glass pipe shaped … Continue reading →

  We left and ducked into a Mexican restaurant a few streets over.                                            “Quesadillas sound so fucking good,” Amanda said, “chicken ones.”                                      We ordered a huge spread.  The waiter looked at Lionel,                                                 “Margaritas, senor?”                                                                                                                           We laughed.                                                                                                                                             “You drunk fuck,” I … Continue reading →