At the place I used to work, the place I called home five days a week for the past twenty years…. There is a secret. There is a superstition. There is a stone. Walking across the breezeway from the parking garage to the entrance, from the entrance to the parking garage, (repeat, repeat, repeat) this stone in the facade (second star to the right) luxates under foot ever so slightly. It bows under the weight of those who tread upon it and rebounds upward with a satisfying “thwank” as they step across to the next, more stable stone. A friend … Continue reading Stomping The Stone