Maxine and Me

Linda bought it for me at the museum gala. "So many wonderful things for a donation." she said, "You should have come, my dear! Meet new people."

She's part mother, part matchmaker. I need both.

But do I need this? A burnt, ugly, pockmarked lump of rock. The note with it read "Deaccessioned. Meteorite acquired by Dr. Harris, Labrador 1905. Once much larger, visitors took pieces for many years."

My friend must think I'm like this thing. Dark, scarred. Fragmentary since Bruce left.

I call it Maxine. Sits brooding under a lamp on my desk. We keep each other company.

From Guest Contributor Karen Walker

Chase

Squealing brakes was the last sound Jonathan Perry heard. A red 1997 Ford Mustang slammed into him as he legally crossed at the corner of Matthews and 25th.

Seven blocks and 45 seconds later, the left leg of Kirsten Tolliver was shattered by a silver 2007 Honda Civic as she waited, ironically enough, for her bus to the hospital.

At Lincoln and 62nd, the Palmer family, James and Stephanie, their daughter Iris, and their half-Lab, half-Dalmatian Patches, were struck head on by the aforementioned Mustang as it merged into oncoming traffic.

This was the point at which the chase ended.