The Sitting Tree (short story)
She's out there somewhere looking for me. She's wondering where I've been. By now she's called all of my friends and they've probably told her roughly the same thing, "Haven't seen him in about a week, sorry, but if he stops by I'll tell him you asked about him again." Yeah, she's out there somewhere looking for me. Searching the places she knows I like to be, driving across town in her white Ford Taurus with her high beams on. She refuses to flick them into low, even after I told her the story of the east coast gang initiations back in the late 90's when gangbangers were riding around with their high beams on and the first person to flash their lights in protest would be hunted down and shot up. That was how they got in, it was proof that they were "down". She didn't care much about east coast stories, she was an Oregon girl through & through. It's getting colder in the valley, the leaves are beginning to drop and t