Shlog = short story + blog

My first exposure to prostitution was in the mid-1970s, a time when seatbelts were an accessory—not a necessity, bangs were feathered like Farrah’s, and phones

Mister Rogers’ neighborhood mesmerized me when I was a child. I dreamed of living there, of having everything in my life in perfect order, of

The No-End Ending             Some stories have happy and satisfying endings. Others do not, leaving us breathless and with our hearts on the floor. Then

A bright blue tarp hung over the high-pitched roof, corners of it flapping in the wind like a flag waving at passersby. It was as

The note read… My Name is Larry. I live at Rosemont Home. If you find me, please call this number for help. Sweet Larry didn’t