It was winter, when the icicles collected themselves that I first had the idea. It had been a long time coming. One by one they came clattering down under the relative warmth of the winter sun. I am going to go home. I said it to myself first alone where the idea could have just as soon flown off into the distance. But then, again, in close company around the glow of artificial light, again the words came out, shattering against the ground.

They found god in the front closet of a suburban home in Lincoln, Nebraska. They said god was lying upside down under a bin of legos. They say a lot of things these days. The men who were called were serious. The kind in white lab coats with guns and gas masks. How do you get into something like that? Probably the military. Men who are paid to know things and be really vague when anyone asks.

The first time I saw it, I just thought it was cat hair. Sometimes I brush my cat and tufts and tufts of fur come out of her coat. I didn’t think about the fact that I hadn’t been brushing my cat lately, but then again there were a lot of things I wasn’t thinking about. And the next few days were just like any other. Cereal for breakfast, reading the news hunched over my laptop nearly curled up in a ball.

A man wakes up in small brown house. It is his house, in so much as a house can really belong to a person. He is a man of his word. He was often quiet, but then again nobody is listening. But on this morning, it is different. He thinks about how it is different as he shaves the hairs on his face, one by one cutting them with his razor.

Author’s note: despite sharing the same name the characters of Zoe and Robin are most definitely not me. She was lucky that I even answered the phone. “Hello,” I said, still half asleep and squinting at the bright column of light pouring in through the window. “Now listen to me very carefully because it is damn hard to make a call like this,” her voice cut sharply through the background static, “You’re me, and I’m you but from a world where things go just a little bit differently.

a wlw stort story, by me!

I keep having this dream, over and over almost every night. It starts out with me in a hallway, and I think it’s the hallway of a school. I turn towards the wall, and I see this display or art piece. It’s a bunch of post-it notes stuck to the wall with writing on them in black ink and red sharpie lines drawn leading from one note to another. As I stare at the notes, I start to realize.

I really like the work of Joey Comeau, particularly Overqualified, a book that tells its letter through a series of wildly inappropriate cover letters. I decided to write my own cover letter in a similar style. Dear SAP Technologies, I am writing to apply for a position as a web programmer and have included my resume which details my extensive software development experience. What my resume cannot cover is my long and personal history with building web pages.