Photos by Ethan Jacobs The bookbag is a ruse, makes me look competent like I know where I’m going or what I’m doing. I don’t think anyone suspects I’m moving around with contraband: a stolen bundle of bed sheets that used to be white. By dawn, they were blotchy—red,...
Photo by Xauxa (Håkan Svensson), CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons At ten years of age, I stopped being innocent. The experience was not sexual in nature, but something darker. Funny enough, children are natural in the world of the invisible, but if the door of the...
I like to tell peopleI kissed a wall in Ibizakayaked the Mediterraneangot stung by a jellyfishgot super tanate paellavisited beacheswhere gorgeous womensunbathed toplessseemingly without fear. I like to tell themI wore tiny shortsand belly shirtsand bikinisthe whole...
He worries about his mother reciting a list of salad leaves at her apartment door, about the silvering of the hairs at his temple and on his chin, and about the 12,000 green parakeets that shouldn’t be here. ‘What if they ate all the other birds?’ my partner asks me,...
Photo: agsaz / Shutterstock.com After my visit to the Royal Alcazar, I stopped at a café and sat outside, relishing the almost-warmth in that last day of December, sipping the thick hot chocolate and dipping fat fingers of churros into it, telling myself it was my...
It’s ten minutes to 7 and mordant sunlight is leaking through the gaps in the broken curtains. I can feel the gold light on my face and understand the meaning of the term ‘sun-drenched.’ I keep my eyes closed, letting my eyelids burn under the weight of the fulgent...
