On being Devon Epps’ mom
The last time Amanda Smith had a birthday party, it was an affair celebrated with three close close friends and a trash can full of booze and fruit. The girls all dressed up, posed...
Author: Brad Willis
Jack
No writing today. No stories. Just an appeal for good thoughts. Two of my dearest friends are taking their baby boy into heart surgery in just a few hours. Today is dedicated to Jack,...
Devon Epps: The Missing Memorial Page
I’ve been out of town for a week. Upon my arrival back in Greenville, I discovered that I haven’t missed much in the on-going investigation into the death of Devon Epps. The Greenville News...
An open letter to my shadow
Dear Federales, I can only guess you didn’t care if I noticed. I mean, it was 6am in my little suburban neighborhood. Nobody, not even the old lady who stays up late smoking and...
Wednesday Mental Massage?
I know, I know. The Mental Massage is supposed to happen on Fridays. I mean, who goes for a mental rubdown on Wednesday? Well, as I mentioned before, this week and the next few...
Once a year and all the time
It’s a picture I’ve looked at once every year for the past five years. It means something different every year. It still means the same thing as the first time I saw it, too.
The Last Sleep
The New York Giants looked like they might be happier playing beer pong. The wife was out cold. The dog was out cold. With 1:57 left in the Sunday night game, I turned off...
Devon Epps: Picture the face behind the name
While I’ve never put this little corner of the Internet out as a crime blog, news source, or vigilante-inspiring screed, I do have a background in comprehensiveness…sometimes to a fault. It occurred to me,...
Friday Mental Massage: From Fossett to Fiddy
Some Fridays are a deep-tissue, slow massage that leaves you feeling relaxed. Today’s is one of those choppy-choppy make-you-sound-like-a-outboard-motor massages. So, hold on and get ready to get beat up. Find Fossett–It will not...
Devon Epps: Waiting
“Taking a different way?” my wife asked as I slipped onto a different back road and drove through an old residential area. We’d been out for ice cream. On the way home, I pulled...
It’s Science
I think back to the first time I saw my wife. I had this sense that she was it. She was smart, driven, and creative. It only helped that she walked around in clothes...
Friday Mental Massage: No key to the gnocchi
It’s a guilty little pleasure, I suppose, my repeated viewing of the movie “Days of Thunder.” It’s the type of thing I’d never mention in front of my more enlightened friends, but when the...
RER Devon Epps coverage makes it to print
I awoke this morning to find that the local alternative weekly, The Beat, has decided to reprise some of the Devon Epps coverage from the ethereal pages of this blog. The editor of the...
Devon Epps: Scene of the Crime?
This lonely place is so close to the interstate, it’s not even an afterthought of a county planner’s pen. It’s like that space in your yard you forgot to landscape, shaded and covered in...