Author: Walli Clien

The rooftop restaurant sparkled high above the city. Crystal glasses caught the light. Wealthy guests laughed in hushed tones. Past the soaring windows, New Yorks skyline shimmered, cool

The little boy was being pulled away from the daycare entrance, his sneakers squeaking against the sidewalk. In his small hand, he clung to a tiny pink hair

The doctor judged him before the old man even reached the counter. In the sunlit lobby of the most prestigious hospital in Chicago, people moved quietly in glossy

June 12 The most unnerving person on that flight to Chicago was the only one who wasnt shaken. By the time the flight attendant sprinted down the aisle,

Keep moving, honey. You cant stand here crying all day long. The little girl stayed rooted to the spot. She stood next to a small ice cream cart

The funeral parlor is so quiet that grief starts to hum, like an old air conditioner you cant turn off. Shoes shuffle lightly on the polished hardwood. Gentle,

Rain pounded the roof of the roadside biker bar like a hundred fingers drumming hard for entry. Inside, the air hung thickleather damp from the storm, deep fryer

Man, let me tell you about something I saw that Ill never forget. So, I was at this dinerone of those old-school spots out off the interstate, all

The city of Chicago kept rolling along, oblivious to the busted-up people lost in its rush. Buses coughed low at the corner. Sneakers scuffed past on cracked sidewalks.

The little girl at the playground didnt ask for money. She asked for the only thing the doctors hadnt been able to return. At first, the father figured