#scott garson

"A Foreign Place" + Postcard + Interview up at Wigleaf

The kiss wasn’t heavy or too high-stakes. It had come, I’d have said, in a natural way, just part of the conversation: a kiss that was really a thought of itself, if thought was a factor at all.

I rolled down my window. “Red Jeep,” I was trying to say. “Did you see it?” I was still catching my breath; the cop asked how much I’d been drinking. I said, “No—red Jeep. Two boys. They were trying to steal my kid’s Santa.” The cop kind of studied me. “DDJ or DOJ,” I went on. “That’s the plate. You could run it. DDJ, I think. For a red Jeep.” The cop asked to see my license, my registration and proof-of-insurance. I let my eyes close. “Do you know what you just did?” the cop asked. “They took my kid’s Santa. His yard… decor.” “Failure to stop at a red light.” “He doesn’t have much.” The cop spoke quietly. “Speeding. Reckless endangerment.” Again my heart was banging.