
Acapulco Nights
I don’t like to say that I’ve been to Mexico. It’s not a lie – I have spent a small amount of time on Mexican soil.
Read MoreI don’t like to say that I’ve been to Mexico. It’s not a lie – I have spent a small amount of time on Mexican soil.
Read MoreWhen I was nineteen, I burned down a small field of bamboo. It was one of the loneliest afternoons I can remember.
Read MoreThe tin fence is half-collapsed, and the smoke that billows out of the shack might be meat or it might be trash—or by the smell, both.
Read MoreWe were checking in when a woman came storming out of her room to the desk and said, “There’s shit on them sheets.”
Read MoreThe year I moved back home to California—the year I got sick and resigned, more or less, from life altogether—I had, for the first few months, traveling dreams…
Read MoreOn the other end of the line my mother’s phone was ringing, but the familiar tones sounded distant, thin and faded.
Read MoreWait, wait—you’re moving to Cambodia?!” I nod. “I was just out there for a few months earlier this year. And now I’m headed back.”
Read MoreThere was an art opening at the Centro Fotográfico the Friday the federal troops came. I went out to the Hotel Victoria for piña coladas with a few friends beforehand.
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