The mystery of rain: it falls alike on dirt and grass, on concrete and macadam; it falls until it stops, for the love of Mike, and it leaves the soil besotted, Madam.
A microscopic riot in the rug— as creatures so hideous they remind us of dinosaurs beneath the twisted fabric battle the battle of their lives. There is intense silence. Charles Garçon waits on the floor, alone. Pretend to be nothing, he thinks, not even a song. Yet the notes he makes are meant to beContinue reading “Garçon, Goodbye”