@dennis.wayne.pruett

The wheel spins for a long time before it stops. Longer than you expected, given how little you paid — but you're not thinking about the price. You're thinking about the years of this: the threads at two in the morning,… read on →

You are in Gary Petrosino's kitchen, and the light through the blinds is the color of dishwater. It is early, Sunday, and the whole building is quiet. Forty-seven days in him. His knees have opinions about the linoleum.… read on →

You are standing in a kitchen in Denver with the coffee going cold, and Stephen Keller Doyle's knees are talking to you. Twenty-five minutes in him. The green eyes in the dark window. The goatee you keep touching,… read on →

You are Dennis Wayne Pruett, and Dennis has a gap between his front teeth that your tongue won't stop finding. Five hours of it. You sit in the bus driver's kitchen in Las Vegas, mid-morning on a Sunday, light flat on… read on →

You are Curtis Maddox, and you have been him for three minutes. You are standing in the kitchen of his apartment with his keys in your fist, the freight-yard ache still in his shoulders from a shift that is not yours.… read on →