Seppuku mood strikes, Second’s gone, just Cat and X, Ramen dulls the blade. Hari-kari calls, Cubs lose again, heart’s the score, Wrigley mourns the fall. Harry Caray sings, Cary Grant’s charm lifts the gloom, Katana’s hope rises.

There is something unforgettable about a Lost Coast summer, like the scent of honeysuckle in the breeze. In ’72, when I was a scrawny kid with more curiosity than sense, I spent my days trailing behind my Uncle Adam. He wasn’t a big man, but he had a laugh that scared the crows off a…

The world holds strange truths when you’re six—or maybe seven. Grown-ups call them superstitions, but back then, they were rules. Real ones. Like the one that said, if a buttercup flower left a yellow reflection on your chin, it meant you had a secret crush. But sometimes, the yellow stuck. Mine always did. Her name…

A mother is pleading for help after her adult son disappeared under suspicious circumstances last summer, with no contact since July 31, 2024. Stephanie Sanders, who resides in Oklahoma, says her son, 28-year-old Dylan Hollingsworth, last reached out via text message from somewhere in Los Angeles. According to Stephanie, Dylan told her he was relocating…

Time is running out, and my mind is slipping more these days—or so it seems. I used to brush it off as age or poor sleep, maybe both, but lately, the line between what’s real and imagined has grown faint and slippery, like a soap bar in a hot shower. After work this morning, I…

Yesterday, day three, 1:49 p.m.–and the Nevada sun beat down like it wanted me gone. My claim–twenty feet of dry, cracked earth–lay baking in the late Spring heat, marked by four crooked rock cairns and misplaced confidence. There, I leaned on my camp shovel, panting, sweat stinging my eyes and grit in my teeth. Every…

So picture this–I’m out doing my DHL rounds, walking up to this house with a package in hand–when I hear the growl. Not just any growl. It was the kind of deep, soul-rattling sound that says, “I have waited my entire life to bite someone in a uniform.” I glance to my right, and there…

My Grandpa used to say, “You can boil a rock and call it supper, if you look at it the right way.” He said that one night during the winter of ’69, when all we had for dinner was cabbage soup, dry biscuits, and apple butter—rationed between six people like it was gold dust. And…

The airport was a zoo with travelers darting around like caffeinated squirrels. Emma, a frazzled graphic designer with a penchant for overpacking, yanked her black suitcase off the baggage claim belt. It looked exactly like hers—same scuffs, same slightly wobbly wheel. Emma didn’t think twice while hauling it to friend Sarah’s car. At Sarah’s apartment,…

I was sitting on the porch that morning like I often do, half-listening to the barn swallows argue under the eaves while nursing a mug of strong coffee and stronger opinions about the state of my bunions when I heard the familiar rattle of Alex’s little SUV come chortling up the lane. Alex is our…