The crunching was hurting his head. “It’s a chip,” I whispered.
I nodded, although at points I was barely listening.
I took a picture and captioned it, “This is what transnational loneliness looks like.”
Re-emerging from the air-conditioned world we found it had rained, and stopped.
I am the doctor with a diagnosis, the telegram that comes early in the morning, the six missed calls from your mom
Okay, that is really dramatic. I am not that important.
Her short snout and desperate gaze make her abnormally irresistible to humans.
As though wearing colour was the mistake instead of just being a woman.
I felt like I worked to get this object and therefore moved it all over the country.
My transition from the sunny Mediterranean to the endless gray of the Paris skies evoked numerous maladies.
The rite de passage to French society has taken a physical toll.