Chava Adams

Those people. The ones that hang out at the library, or in certain sections of town, walking, talking...

Treasure

Miri was a special child. I didn’t know that at first. She had thick, dark hair, round face, and a slow smile. “I’m six,” she said. But then I learned what it felt like when Miri wrapped her arms around you and hugged. Her face upturned, that slow smile spreading across it. Reaching her eyes, that would grow, and grow and grow, liquid ovals of brown above cheeks tinged deep pink.

Teens and Twenties

See The Dark

By Chava Adams

Another tree is down. I’m driving down Lakewood Avenue, figuring that maybe, just maybe, the tree that blocked the middle of North Lake Drive has been removed, and I can go through. After all, they had a whole day. I’m sure things have been taken care of.

Potpourri

Ride To Forever

By Chava Adams

The taxi driver was old and rather shriveled, with a crop of white hair fringing his head. Ah, I recognize this one, I thought with relief, hurrying to open the door. If I recall correctly, he knows Lakewood. You would think that a taxi driver, being that his/her job is, well, driving, and being that the town they are driving in is, well, Lakewood…