Literature

Every day I have to decide when to cut over to Broadway, as if choosing a theme, maybe the expedient dash up Fulton Street bordered… Read the full post
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In Australia I’m jet lagged and waiting on the hotel bed trying not to mess my hair and wondering what he’ll think: thirteen more years sketched around my eyes,… Read the full post
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I I am walking to Montjuic with midnight in my hand. I expect she will kiss me long after the flamenco dancers leave. II Read the full post
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It is creeping its way towards night on a cement rooftop somewhere off the highway when nineteen year-old Ravi begs me to write a love letter for him. It is… Read the full post
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At six a.m. we walk the forest path, Hilda—the Stockholm pooch—and I. She trots and sniffs confused, confronted by the math of moss and grass, a dog’s… Read the full post
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I misplace my passport and almost to the Danish border I rush to turn my vitals into a story relevant for crossings. I come from… Read the full post
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We drive on winding streets, through tiny towns with names like music: Amfissa, Itea, Galaxidi. We have already been lost once, so now we plot Read the full post
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At our first appointment the veterinarian revealed a predilection for the company of dogs over most people. Read the full post
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Raymond Chandler could do justice to this place — to the slope of the leafy E, the blunt calligraphy of El Marquez. Read the full post
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In New York City, I sat alone in a dark room and started this book and who knows what I felt except that it was cold at night for summer. Read the full post
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