Meigan Carson
Stories (2)
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The Road, Testily Traveled
It was the Year of Our Lord 1989, and I had made the dubious decision to leave my now famous hometown in the San Francisco Bay Area. 19-year-old me was convinced that relocating to a small town in Pennsylvania (with a name so ridiculous I daren’t reveal it) was a viable plan, mostly because, well, there was a guy involved. Given that it would be years before either the internet or cell phones would become a “thing”, we met by way of a mutual friend’s underground ‘zine. The fact that we broke up 2 years later and have had no contact whatsoever in nearly three decades only underscores the indispensability of fully developed planning and decision-making skills, which I’m proud to say I have now honed, at least somewhat.
By Meigan Carson 4 years ago in Fiction
On the Bridge
He’s here again- I sense him before he finally steps into view, the top of his face obscured by his ever-present camera. The bottom half, of course, is swathed in his black mask (he wears this particular one every week, so I have come to think of it, He’s here again- I sense him before he finally steps into view, the top of his face obscured by his ever-present camera. The bottom half, of course, is swathed in his black mask (he wears this particular one every week, so I have come to think of it, unimaginatively, as his “midweek mask”). He’s trained his camera on the tallest section of the bridge with its international orange towers and bulky cables that point skyward. The air is brisk, despite the dazzling blue of the sky with its puffy “what animals do you see?” clouds.
By Meigan Carson 5 years ago in Humans
