Luke Hartwick

Now, when I think back to the excuses my parents used to make, I feel like an idiot.

I should have known something was off by the puzzled looks on the police officers’ faces as my wife recounted everything that had happened.

I had gotten texts from people with the wrong number in the past and never thought twice about telling them so and moving on with my life. But this time was different, because this time I was lonely.

I remember often asking about my mother. Along with all of my other uncertainties, there was the lingering question of why I could never see her. I always got the same answer, “You’re too young to understand, Luke.”

Here’s something I don’t advertise on my SitterCity profile: I hate children. But I do love video games and easy money, so that makes for a pretty smooth operation when it comes to taking care of other people’s kids for a few hours.

I have to confess, I love those shows on television about buying storage units and hunting through antiques, looking for something valuable. I’ve always had a fascination with old things and it seems like a relatively easy way to make some extra money. I imagined it must be almost like a treasure hunt. I imagined wrong.

Property of San Quentin State Prison.

Tiffany was four months pregnant before we scheduled an ultrasound to find out the gender of our baby.

This was something else, but I had no idea what.

To have a bad trip on Shrooms is to sentence your psyche to the electric chair.