Photo by Tang Yan Song / Shutterstock.com I imagine you back at home, keepingthe iPad tucked by your side, waitingfor the flip to green to show that I’m online. Even thoughI should be sleeping and I know you’ve done the time change calculation and imagined a clock...
4:31 PM-4:36 PM June 5th 2018 Outside my 2nd story window from Mokhovaya Ulitsa 32 in Saint Petersburg, Russia, there is a shawarma bistro, a butcher shop, and a bar called Bukowski’s. No joke. There is a man in a gray suit, a woman in a purple dress. Walking...
Photo by lit3rd / Shutterstock.com If I were an alcoholic in Japan, I would be very good at hiding it. The way I would be very good at hiding everything: my panic attacks, my tattoos, my scars. No one would ever see me cry. Let’s get some vodka, I’d say to my Japanese...
On Saturday morning there was a man on the Balboa Island promenade painting a copy of The Raft of the Medusa. He stood on the sand on the other side of the sea-wall. Aaron and I stopped our walk to watch him. Aaron told him it was a cool painting and that he had just...
Photo by Vic Hinterlang / Shutterstock.com We drive south, in the direction of the McAllen Foreign Trade Zone, where my husband’s machine shop is nestled among many others of similar vein, and the international bridge—one of twenty-eight conduits of sanctioned traffic...
Photo by nbnserge/ Shutterstock.com I’m sitting at a terminal in Charles de Gaulle Airport, wondering about the last time I washed my hands. It’s crowded and no one is making eye contact. I don’t know much about Charles De Gaulle, besides that he was a man in old...
