Jane was leaving the convenience store when her romcom was ruined. What they don’t tell you about meet-cutes is that meeting is never as cute the second time around. In fact, the so-we-meet-again is the most awkward part, and it always happens when you’re not expecting...
Before he died, the last time I spoke to my father we were broiling underneath the August sun in section 126 at the old ballpark. All the covered seats at the diamond had sold out, but, despite knowing we’d inevitably get sunburnt, my father had...
When water melts would it smell like wax Unlikely: Butter. The oil that won’t come off I do not see the birds, only their feet, and even then, only the ones missing talons I’ve been pulling my hair out since I was little, letting it fall from my...
There is a boat in the middle of a gray and choppy sea. Actually, the boat is more of a raft, tree trunks barely stripped of bark, lashed together with the rawest of rope. Maybe the rope is handmade, too, wild grasses woven together by...
i’d never had a real coffee until the portuguese bakery on the street corner where concrete peels like dead skin no skateboarding this is toronto is dufferin grove the curb is nicer when it’s made with the opposite intention blankets unfamiliar if everyone is sober...
an apple is the doorstop. in lieu of a working lock it is an invitation, a trail of pawprints from stoop to kitchen to hallway and back again does it count as smoking inside? if we pour our lungs to the front porch and the smoke trails slither between the chipped green paint, green skin to...
You had a way with wordsYou knew how to make them hurtAnd I fell for you instantlyLike a child The way that you spoke with graceAnd the moonlight on your faceI wish I could show youI’d be worth your while So hold meLike you never meant toOh,...
“Wow. Look at that. I need that. That is so pretty,” Scarlett says, pointing at a billboard in the distance entitled “Sephora Collection: Colourful Eyeshadow.” A half-open circular case of eyeshadow is showcased. Its black border surrounds a clear circular window, encapsulating some sort of...
It is ending like this. THUD. I am walking from the village to The Garden. the grass is green it is our place to play. Hope always brings me food to eat together, oh. But, I am waiting and waiting Here, I am sitting here fading. The wind is blowing the blades And the cattails are...
Charles Dickens’ Bleak House (1853) paints a diverse cast of characters against the foggy backdrop of Victorian London, of whom the least fortunate is Jo, an impoverished, illiterate, orphaned boy who works as a crossing-sweeper. Dickens sets forth Jo’s mistreatment, misfitness, and the myriad of...