By Christopher Brinson
Twelve exhausting hours at LEGOLAND. Nonetheless, I persisted.
“Where are we going? “ she asked.
“To a cemetery.” I replied.
“Pay homage to Bukowski.”
She groaned and said “I don’t want to know. Just make it quick.”
We arrived. I got out and searched in vain.
Both kids started crying. She walked over to me.
“Listen,” she demanded , “Either get in that damn car and drive us back or I’m leaving you here with rest of the skeletons.”
So, we got in the mini-van and returned to our hotel in San Diego.
Old Hank wasn’t going anywhere.
“I write because it beats the hell out of watching Netflix.” – the writer