Little Stories.
Big
Grace.

by Brian Ritchie May 20, 2026 The air in the cockpit of my 1986 Ford Escort was thick with anticipation… and the harsh chemical pine of one of those cardboard tree air fresheners they give you at the car wash. I think they believe it creates the illusion that your vehicle has not, in fact, been transporting wet cats and Taco Bell. My wife and I had long since accepted the synthetic forest smell as part of the car’s ecosystem and were now fully focused on the experience ahead

by Brian Ritchie May 2026 One of my neighborhood buddies growing up was a guy named Scott T. But, because I am a responsible writer, I feel like I need to protect this man’s reputation, mainly due to the discussion of illegal activities that are about to ensue. So, we will call him Tim. Tim and I grew up in a buffer neighborhood. Which is just a tract of suburban land cut into the countryside to serve as a neutral ground between two very diverse cultures. On our one side was

by Brian Ritchie March 2026 I’ve never been one who cared about efficiency and speed when it came to navigating a crowd. Which, I understand, is a lesser skill that could be equated with things like loading the dishwasher properly and putting the seat down on the toilet. Nevertheless, it is a skill, and it's one that city dwellers—those are the people who talk fast, don’t have driver’s licenses, and share the opinion that everything is improved by covering it with a firm laye