Progress, Not Perfection
by Charles Stafford
ENNIFER sat in the circle with the rest,
eyes to the floor, toeing the curled edge of a warped linoleum tile with her
turquoise pump. People chatted with their neighbors in hushed voices; barely
audible nonsense flittered about her ears. Her ponytail was loose. She leaned
back to smooth and gather her unwashed hair and retie her scrunchy. ...READ MORE