Photo by Tony Pacitti It was the perfect sort of August day that you don’t really get in Rhode Island. That sticky, soul sucking humidity that defines New England’s deepest dog days had lifted, and the haze-free, endless blue sky hosted just a handful of picture...
Photo: sporst, CC BY 2.0 , via Wikimedia Commons In Butte, Montana, there’s a pit of poison, a former open copper mine that’s been left to sit and swallow geese. For two dollars and fifty cents, tourists can walk across a tunnel to look into it. I’ve stopped at the...
Photo: Infrogmation of New Orleans, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia CommonsWikimedia Commons I drink a beer that tastes like lemons. The TV is loud. The man next to me, a stranger turned comrade in our mutual attack to get the attention of the bartender, is smiling. He...
Photo by Cc3339 via Wikimedia Commons. License: CC BY-SA 4.0 The sign on the locked gates to Holy Land said ‘No Trespassing,’ but it was almost lost in the overgrowth. Graham thought he could make a convincing argument that he hadn’t seen it if...
(text by Miriam Calleja; photograph by Dylan Willoughby) They said I should hide my body but make it more accessible, fit it with locks that only stay on the latch, never lock the doors, and never draw the curtains completely. My mum insisted that I should get...
Photo by Scott Anderson Old stone steps wedged in loam wind down the gorge to forest then river. Here shadows hide before noon and the world-weary congregate— cottonwoods, maples, oaks. Brown switchgrass. A hollowed out log worn smooth by wind, water, the work of...
