Roger Starkey | Writer
Portfolio Essays Travel Stories Bio/Resume

I often think of Mr. Dogeater, his actual surname may have been Glowaski, when I open my blinds to welcome a

new day. I never found out why he refused to open his curtains. Mr. Dogeater died when I was twelve, taking his

secret to the grave with him. The mystery still haunts me. Well, maybe it doesn't haunt me, or trouble me, or

even give me pause, butit does make me say 'hmm.'

When I was a child, my parents would pull off alongside major highways to allow my siblings and me to take a

nature break...These roadside relief breaks stopped after I was about eight, and I certainly don't remember any

other incidents of public urination after that age. I think that makes me unique amongst the men that I rub

shoulders with on a daily basis in Europe.

The girl quickly snatched the object from her dress and peeped at her mom to ensure her actions hadn't

attracted maternal attention. Peering at her mother from the corner of her right eye to ensure that she wasn't

underparental surveillance, the girl pretended to scratch her leg while working the sticky item free from her

fingers. She displayed a picker's wisdom well beyond her years. I nearly stood and applauded.