My wife doesn’t understand me. That’s what she tells me, at least every other day. It’s Saturday, and we’re driving our kids Devon and Anna, four and almost six, to the amusement park off Route 53. Emily says, “I don’t… Continue Reading
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but if you were unlucky enough to focus your gaze on my nose you’d struggle to find a single redeeming feature in it. I’ve got nostrils the size of caves,… Continue Reading
It was just starting to get dark when I snuck out of the Pigeon Mafia concert to smoke in the parking lot. I’d been awake for thirty-six hours straight thanks to finals and I was recently off Prozac. The noise… Continue Reading
The switch is flipped. Gears begin grinding. 5:00Rami wakes up an hour earlier than his alarm. The sun is peeking through the 40th story window. There’s a pounding outside; a construction crew is furiously drilling through the pavement. TutTutTut TutTutTut… Continue Reading
We had a little funeral today in secret. We didn’t tell the Brogdonians. No one was in the mood to explain why we had decided to hold this human ritual they barely understand now. For this. We didn’t tell the… Continue Reading
My neighbour Julie stands in her doorway encased in a dressing gown. It’s pink and quilted but she’s tall and makes it look glamourous, it shows a hint of calf, a nipped in waist. She kisses her husband Tom goodbye.… Continue Reading
There’s a hum of wasps in the air as we run past the picnic area with its cracking benches and scrappy bark to the outdoor gym. The equipment is glossy and painted in calming colours, silver and grasshopper green. I… Continue Reading
The tapping of the old man’s fingers against his worn keyboard filled the small room. A tabby cat sat in the corner, drinking from one of a half-dozen partially drunken mugs of tea scattered across the wooden floor and desk.… Continue Reading
How I long for those smoky-blue mountains of Montana. Born and raised in the west, I have an almost visceral hunger for wide open places and the endless sky. I can think I’ve adjusted to the city, this agglomeration of… Continue Reading
His two front teeth shone silver in the sun. They didn’t blind, reflect, dazzle. Instead, they had a soft glow. I couldn’t pull my eyes from them. His name was Royce. He was sixth grade president, always chosen by the… Continue Reading