Nulla dies sine linea. Four sentences every day. About whatever happened that day. Most of it's even true. Written by Scott Lee Williams
Monday, September 30, 2024
Local Hero
Sunday, September 29, 2024
Rainy Days and Scooters
Saturday, September 28, 2024
Security
Friday, September 27, 2024
It’s more of an art
Thursday, September 26, 2024
Mistrust
Wednesday, September 25, 2024
Like We Would
Tuesday, September 24, 2024
Perspective
Sunday, September 22, 2024
Equinox
Pita
Saturday, September 21, 2024
Wildin’
Friday, September 20, 2024
Little Help
As I tap my phone at the subway entrance, a man standing at the gate catches my eye. “Little help?” he says, with a nod toward the gate.
I return his nod and, after passing through the turnstile, back up onto the bar that latches the gate, opening it and letting him in.
Just this moment, the train pulls in, and with a quick glance back to make sure he’s in, I get on, but not before I see his chin lift in quick acknowledgment of the favor, then we part, never to see one another again.
Thursday, September 19, 2024
Own Your Mistakes
Wednesday, September 18, 2024
Natural Pest Control
Tuesday, September 17, 2024
Peek-a-boo
The flight attendant stands at the dividing wall between first class and economy, facing the back of the plane. Her expression is bored and neutral as she demonstrates, with practiced gestures, the locations of the exits and the way to buckle a seatbelt.
When she gets to the part where she displays the card explaining the proper procedure for surviving a water landing, however, she spots a baby a few rows back, and her entire demeanor changes. Her eyes light up, and she spends the rest of the prerecorded checklist hiding her face behind the card and then revealing it with a surprised expression, playing peek-a-boo with the baby, who quietly squeaks and gurgles with delight.
Monday, September 16, 2024
The What Now?
I’m lying on the grass, one arm behind my head, the other beside me. The grass is tickling my skin, and the sun filters through the leaves to shine on my closed eyelids.
Katie’s dad, standing on the back porch, looks down on me. “Don’t get bit by the army worms,” he says with a grin, and he makes claw-like motions with his hands.
Saturday, September 14, 2024
Public Indecency
Body Surfing at 53
Friday, September 13, 2024
Don’t Swim Out Past The Breakers
Thursday, September 12, 2024
Doppelgänger
Wednesday, September 11, 2024
New Sunglasses
Tuesday, September 10, 2024
Edamame
Monday, September 9, 2024
Like The Samsonite Ad With The Gorilla
Sunday, September 8, 2024
Good Looking Out
Saturday, September 7, 2024
She Thinks I’m Mean
Friday, September 6, 2024
Maps Don’t Know
Thursday, September 5, 2024
Wild Pigeons
Wednesday, September 4, 2024
They Are Ravenous
“I have a question,” Katie says, “and it’s not about the show or politics or anything.”
“Okay,” I say, pausing The West Wing, which we’ve been watching.
“Why hasn’t Trump been talking about how he got shot at?” she asks. “Because if I was running his campaign,” she continues as I consider this, “I would have him talking about how, like ‘I got shot for you,’ at every ravenous Republican rally,”