by JACK C. BUCK

Somewhere there’s a violin and guitar and a song and a room and people are in this room and some are sitting on the ground and someone is hiding under a table after having just heard a poem read about them and others are standing in the kitchen next to the window that’s stuck and won’t close using the stove as a light and two or three are singing all different songs but the same song at once and there is a friend bringing over knockoff speed later who hasn’t arrived yet and he is bringing three or eight other people with him whom you haven’t met yet and probably two of these people will end up staying for two and half weeks and one will never leave and one will end up moving out to denver with you and over the years more of them will decide to make denver their new home because why not and also because everyone needs a place to call home and it doesn’t matter where that place is as long as you are with others who like having you around and it’s the best when you really like them too and when you meet people like this they stay with you and you think of them a lot and you miss them and you love them and write about them and when you meet people of this sort a nice thing happens where wichita, denver, a parking lot, eugene oregon, the woods of northern michigan, and the backseat of a car on the way to san antonio all become home if you want it to and so i will go anywhere as long as you are there and i am with you and wherever that may be we can call that place home too.

 

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JACK C. BUCK lives in Denver, Colorado. His most recent short fiction is forthcoming in Connotation Press, El Portal, Beechwood Review, Foliate Oak, Apricity Press, Jellyfish Review, Scrutiny Journal, Ginosko Literary Journal, and Yellow Chair Review. He thanks you for reading his work. Find him on Twitter @Jack_C_Buck

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