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...
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: 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 Alienlanus – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0 Once upon a time, the two cities could have been twins separated by little more than a body of water larger than a river but smaller than a sea. The muddy depths could be easily forgotten in the golden shimmer of the...
Photo by Mmartin1460 – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0 By the quiet waters of the suburban town of badagry/ there is somewhere called: the point of no return/ slaves that were carted away on wooden vessels beyond that point would never return home again/ I stand at the...
