THE PREVIOUS NOVEMBER, a row of wooden beach huts, their paintwork lifted and flaked by the hard east...
They run around in circles, showing each other the world up there, each standing behind each, pointing to the sky, then walking away, showing their sons and daughters where to go, then leaving , continuing the process, Pointing to the sky, leaving, pointing to the sky, leaving.
One of them holds their fist in the air. Protesting or trying to state something is wrong, to make right. Revolution?
For a while they all participate together in something that looks like
Why, the lone wolf, as a woman, is a woman
Looking for the next
thing, edge of the bed so you can
“…and I felt saddest of all when I read the boring chapters that were only descriptions of whales, because I knew that the author was just trying to save us from his own sad story, just for a little while.”
Outside a remote village in Russia’s Far East a man-eating tiger is on the prowl. The tiger isn’t […]
from Deaf Republic: 1 BY ILYA KAMINSKY Such is the story made of stubbornness and a little air, a story […]
Don’t whistle. Don’t wear peacock feathers, yellow or green. Don’t wear blue, unless with silver lining. The good...
First: Find out where she lives. Investigate her trash for torn notes and wet napkins. Discover there is...