she hands me a book and i say, i will return this someday (it's a line that people often phrase). i know that i won't, but i will lift her from the margin and the page and return the gift in different ways. i barely recall the tale's name but her hand, her footnotes, her annotation … Continue reading note to self.
Behind his shades, beneath the sliding cloud, he turned onto Baruther Strasse. He walked through the cemetery with its spray paint brickwork and its green wreathed stones and its cold clean stones and testaments. He walked, revenant, among the dead, over the rising shadows of the pigeons and the yew tree, remembering - suddenly and all … Continue reading Baruther Strasse Cemetery.
producing, from a tote bag, a battered pack of playing cards, placing it between her teeth, she began to speak while constructing a smoke. i made neither head nor tail of what she said (her words, hidden as they were within that deck), but, like the best of mime or close hand magic, it … Continue reading taken in
nickreeves 