It’s not the East Coast. It’s not the West Coast. It’s the Third Coast.

My writing has had some preoccupation with destruction lately. From a winter freeze to a flood. It’s probably the incessant construction destruction that’s happening on my street. Hopefully sometime it’ll all lead to something new. Anyhow, here’s a new bop about a walk along the Bywater, the rhythm of footsteps, the squeak of a boot. Liminal moments in liminal spaces.