"Wind whistles against the crevasse of rock—a shrilling frequency that dulls the noise of my chattering teeth. The thermos of rum and coffee is handed to me — it’s now a cold slush—and I gulp it down, desperate for warmth, watching the dark-grey sky, waiting for a glimpse of light, a beam of sunshine that would make this crazy adventure worth it..."

"We buried him before a tree on a hill, spring heat blazing down. A rock bore his name, which I had scrawled in permanent marker. Alvin. Yes, like the singing chipmunk. We voted on what to call him and democracy doesn’t always breed originality..."

"It was almost two in the morning when I entered my parents’ house, reeking of marijuana. I disabled the alarm, pulled off my shoes, and sprayed a little Lysol on my sweatshirt. Then I tiptoed out of the laundry room like I always used to when I’d come home late and didn’t want to wake anyone from one of the many groaning floorboards.
It all felt so normal, reminding me of those Saturday nights in high school when I’d return from a party, or when I was visiting from university and back from a bar, ready to sleep in my old bed, attempting to slip through the shadows unnoticed.
No matter how sneaky I’d be, though, my father would always greet me at the top of the stairs..."

"Little tornadoes whip by with every paddle stroke. Wind howls as I pull water; the metal Grumman canoe wobbles slightly. Dark clouds sweep overhead, and a metallic zing pierces the air: rain is coming. Hopefully, only rain..."