Reflections of a 50-year-old cop
The hallway is empty. High ceilings stretch off in the distance. Dark woodwork marks the openings for doorways hidden in shadowed recesses. And a low murmur of voices provides background. One-thousand-six-hundred voices to be exact. Oh, yeah, and one cop. I follow the directions from the front desk. Right. Then left. Then
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Charmed, I’m sure
By Kent Carlson Maybe it was the period in time I was raised, or maybe it was who raised me, but the term “charming” really wasn’t a big part of my vocabulary. At least not until I met my friend, Dennis. Dennis was about 15 years older than me. He
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