By Michael J. Brien
You hear the knock. Barely at first. Soft as a sparrow’s beak twisting a twig in its nest outside your bedroom window. Early morning. Sun rising.
It’s early evening when the knocking comes again, and this time it is harsher, knuckles intent on getting what they want—rousing the memory of the bum at your counter yesterday demanding you give him the beer he had no money for. It’s a sound you know all too well, its rhythm unrelenting.[Read more…] about Knock