Our home faces Bayou St. Moss.
Albert, an eighteen-foot croc, likes to haul out onto our front lawn and sun himself there.
Our mail and newspapers are delivered to the post office downtown. Our last visitors were the Bartle boys, who tried to prank us on Halloween three years ago.
I maintain a special, discreet, bed and breakfast.
You are provided with an elegant room with a fantastic view, and access to my amazing collection of prize dogs and cats.
If you’re a pet lover, while away a pleasant evening with these beautiful animals.
Then in the morning, you’re breakfast.
Joe Malone is living in a mud hut in South Sudan. Read more from him athttp://joem18b.wordpress.com/.
I ran away from home.
My folks came after me. They found me. They brought me back.
I ran away from home again.
My folks came right after me. I hid. They still found me. They brought me back again.
Stupid!
The next time, I burnt the house down first.
Joe Malone is living with a Wora woman and her three sisters in South Sudan. Read more of his writing at joem18b.wordpress.com.
“You will never learn,” my mama said to me.
She sat me down at the kitchen table with a sack of potatoes and a paring knife and told me to get busy.
But I did learn. So did she.
Never make a kid mad and then hand him a knife.
Joe Malone is living with a Wora woman and her three sisters in South Sudan. Read more of his writing at joem18b.wordpress.com.
I am a very fortunate young man. I have the heart of an Olympic athlete and the kidneys of a vibrant young woman.
It is sad that these precious organs are available only through the tragedy of early death.
I keep them on my mantle next to an autographed baseball.
They walk among us. Amos couldn’t hold his liquor and spilled the beans. I didn’t believe him until he levitated the bottle of hot sauce on our barroom table.
Here to invade, these aliens? Nope. Earth is a galactic Tijuana. Alcohol. Drugs. Violence. Littering.
It’s boring out there, in civilization.
Joe Malone is fluent in the South Sudanese languages of Nuer and Zande.
Our house made scary sounds in the storm. Ma said don’t worry; the house is complaining about the rain.
Our house made scary noises at night. Ma said it was settling down to sleep.
Aunt and uncle came to visit. The house made scary sounds. Ma said it was eating.
Joe Malone is living alone in Africa in a mud house. His blog is here: http://joem18b.wordpress.com/.
Janie wanted hugs. She demanded them. She pestered me for them.
I hugged her but my arms began to hug her tighter. Tighter. And finally, too tight.
Mary doesn’t need hugs. She just wants a beautiful yard. She buys me shears and spades. Sharp and heavy tools.
She pesters me.
Joe Malone is living alone in Africa in a mud house. His blog is here: http://joem18b.wordpress.com/.
Why are there more crows? Global warming? More neighborhood carrion? The crow is not a solitary bird. Crows flock.
They communicate, these birds, now more than before. Loudly. The crow is a grumpy bird, a querulous bird. Increasingly loud.
Increasingly angry.
Reports have been coming in. The crows are attacking.
Joe Malone was expelled from the Central African Republic and now lives in South Sudan, where there is nothing to do but write. Check out his blog.