Some years before, I had moved to a coastal town thinking that fortune smiled on writers in picturesque places.
Today, May 3rd, the weather is splendid.
When we live our lives on the edge, with no regard for how we conduct ourselves or how we treat our mates, it’s no surprise that consequences usually follow.
Illustration by Andres Garzon It was a long drive back from the cottage. We awoke hungover in […]
Wandering endless bleached earth.
My father’s funeral was on a Tuesday, on my mother’s birthday.
“You’re late, Isaac.”
Halloween night 1955: a Volkswagen Beetle hit nine-year-old Erika on Decarie Boulevard, corner Monkland Avenue. Notre-Dame-de-Grâce borough.
In my grandmother’s garden there was a stunted, knuckled tree near a ramshackle bomb shelter, a sheet of corrugated iron curved over a shallow hole.
At five o’clock that morning, like he had done every morning, Ibrahim Delgado woke to the sound of screeching roosters.