The news hit me this evening like a bad needle drop that Grateful Dead guitarist Bob Weir left us for that big stage in the sky. For a few quiet minutes, the music stopped me cold, and I was right back in Southern Humboldt, sitting in a little radio station that smelled like hot electronics,…

One night, my brother Adam and I were cruising through Crescent City with nowhere to be and all the time in the world. If you’ve ever been there, you know the drill: one-way north, one-way south, like the town itself is politely guiding you along, no detours, no surprises. Back then, before every corner sprouted…

He spoke like a priest might, quiet and slow, as if the world around him had already burned down and he was reading its eulogy from a ruined pulpit. His words seemed pastoral, but they held razor blades of loneliness, indecision, and violence of choice. He’d sit at the end of the counter in Maggie’s…

Everything vanished into the machinery of genocide, reduced to smoke and numbers. That’s what the archives said. That’s what the professors said. But for Anton Keller, who catalogued the dead at the Ministry of Historical Continuity, it was all paperwork and cigarettes. The human stain, gone before he showed up to sort the ashes. He…

The building looked like it had been peeled straight off a postcard from 1986, back when neon was the future, and everyone believed in progress. Its pastel facade, once described by some realtor as “perfect for Miami Vice,” had turned to chalk and mildew. Now it stood as a monument to failed ambition. The parking…

The wind began to blow before the sun rose. It picked up leaves and danced them across the asphalt with the sound of broken glass and chandelier jewels. Then it spoke her name. “Lena…” The whisper was soft, delicate, and wet, as if carried through a mouth that wasn’t quite human. Lena froze at her…

It takes a lot to rattle Buddy. He’s part hound, part mystery, and all business when it comes to anything that squeaks, slithers, or sneaks after dark. He’s treed more squirrels than I’ve had cups of coffee, which is saying something. But that night, whatever it was up there in the trees, he wanted no…

When you’re young, not knowing something can feel like a weakness. It’s more than just missing facts—sometimes it’s just admitting you’re a little lost, or not sure you can pull something off. Saying “I don’t know” can feel like you’ve dropped the ball, and folks often see it the same way. When you’re young, it…

Harold kept three pairs of shoes by the front door, though he hadn’t worn any of them in years. There was a scuffed pair of brown loafers from his teaching days, a pair of walking shoes that still had a tag dangling from one lace, and one set of old army boots that could tell…

Please visit https://sagebrushwriter.substack.com/ and subscribe. It costs nothing, and will make me feel good. Thank you.