“Take it from me, kid”
by Oliver Lee Bateman

1. "Berkman, how long have you been working here?” “…” “Ten years and we haven’t even really talked. I bet you think I’m just some kind of awful jerk, don’t you? The mean old boss, totally out of touch and so forth and so on.” “…” “Well, I wanted to take some time to share with you—to impart to you—a little bit of the wisdom that comes with age.”
...READ MORE

Albert Jameson was a young man of indomitable will. He was a part-time adventurer and a full-time storyteller. The only things more fantastic than his exploits were the exaggerated tales of his escapades, which were first told, and first exaggerated, by none other than Albert Jameson. Everyone in Longmont had heard the story of how he wrestled a cougar on Haber Hill, or the yarn about his date with the Oil Baron's daughter, wherein he bested the “World's Second-Largest Samoan” in fisticuffs. His most famous story, however, is the one that he never got the chance to turn into a legend.

I was smiling. I could sense it. The pain is no longer a concern. The urgency that had been present is now just an afterthought, replaced by a calm realization of it all. Questions from the past echo from afar. The warnings, once easily dismissed, come to me again, perhaps an answer as to why this might have all come about. I’m ready now, I swear.

Most days I taste incorrectly. Everything chews wrong. Peaches are soft and cottony and freshly laundered. I write on small cards about the things that I put in my mouth to remind myself of the seasons, because I don't have anyone to tell. I drink tea and it is like someone's bed sheets. Beverages are mostly of dryer lint and compost.