This time, we have lunch in Menlo Park, we chase after the morning Caltrain and make it by the last second, and we end up all the way in San Francisco where the sunshine’s the same but the wind feels ...

My lover thus worked on his translation in our mother tongue slowly, but surely, while I went to the Workshop every week to turn in chapters which no one liked, short stories which would end up having...

I. The rain doesn’t smell the same here, and neither do I. Warm, resinous, alive: piñons and junipers, greasewood and ponderosa, the ghost bloom of Apache plume snagged on old barbed wire, claret cup ...

I was awoken by a bad rendition of this very Carpenters song. It had been playing on the intercom of the airplane while I was trying to sleep through the redeye, L.A.X. to LaGuardia, which I had been ...