The arms of the clock were pulled off while she was taking a shower. I was bored and suffering from stomach cramps and when I feel like a cornered animal stuff ends up breaking. Drying herself before the vanity mirror, she checks for lumps then plucks her eyebrows making sure to place each one… Read more

  The hour is built around a photographic memory and a thirst for midget pornography. As a result, there are wet patches on her shirt where I keep sucking at her breasts along with the vague sensation of being in two places at the same time. She pushes me away while trying to read her… Read more

  The supermarket near where we live is flooded but we make the trip anyway. The aisles are full of driftwood and our clothes soaked but it’s no big deal because we have pizza and beer and we are young and free. I’m smoking, and although it’s just a few, you don’t like it and… Read more

  At the bus stop I pick leaves from a tree. In my hands they crumble before falling to the ground in pieces. It’s summer. You can taste it in the air, just the same as you can taste the honey from the bees that form a halo around our freckled heads. After tea and… Read more

The time is whatever. Other people are whatever. Love is a screwdriver thrust into a tender belly, or perhaps a razor blade slashing a slender neck leaning out to be kissed- whatever hurts most. But the pain shouldn’t be avoided, nor should it be worn with shame, because to hurt is to feel, and feeling… Read more

  The mountains are alcoholic. The clouds above them, they too are alcoholic. The rivers of thawed out ice that flow from their summit, they taste like a billion shots of chilled Sambuca ready to take us far away from the piss-stained streets that offer nothing but the same old faces and same reasons to… Read more

    When I was a kid, I wanted to be a wrestler. After that initial decision had lost some of its charm, I decided on being a historian, then a builder, a gardener, a painter, and finally, in my twenties, a writer. Truth be told, the idea of being a writer seemed a lot more… Read more

  There’s dust in the air I try not to breathe, but it’s just impossible to resist. There’s sunshine that keeps tickling my toes as they poke out the foot of the bed but the day can go ahead and wait. I’m busy being lazy, so leave me alone as I lie here dreaming of… Read more

  Amidst the words and ruminations about the women I’ve loved, there’s nothing more beautiful than the memory of her falling asleep, or perhaps the image of the golden arches of a McDonald’s rising from the broken landscape of a town we once called home. On our way back from a night out in a… Read more