Fred Is Dead
Fred Is Dead by Matt Briggs
My uncle was obsessed with being alive to the point where he didn’t live at all. He filled a cardboard box with free verse, a landfill with green bottles and a tin urn with his ashes. When I was first aware of him, he was growing things out, weird like Howard Hughes. Uncle Fred decided to grow a whisker under his chin as long as it would grow.
Flag Ceremony by Matt Briggs
Sometime after I had been in my Army basic training unit long enough, I knew how to polish my boots until the surface held a thin, buffed glaze richer than the spay-on polish applied by the Drill Sergeants. The aerosol shine left a mucous sheen still shiny even after trail dirt and field dust coated their heels. I knew how to take my time stripping down the excess, black Kiwi wax and then applying a light touch and buffing the leather with my brush.
About Suburgian My name is Matt Briggs. I’m a writer living in the suburbs south of Seattle, north of Tacoma.
About Matt Briggs I’ve written some books set in the Seattle area. Several of these books are based on my experience growing up in the Snoqualmie Valley in the 70s and early 80s. Both of my parents grew up in Seattle, but in the early 70s wanted to move to a place where they could grow their own food and escape the city.
I am not doing anything in public right now.