Mom was a hairdresser, but she couldn’t afford to rent a salon, so women kept coming to our small flat. Every day, when I got home from school, I stepped through a powdery mist of hairspray and kissed Mom on the cheek. She smelled like a wet coconut.
Tag: love
Concrete Worm – published in Hayden’s Ferry Review, selected for Best Small Fictions 2025
"Dad said people like him are meant to be loyal to what hurts them."


