Photo by Kevin McShane. Used with permission. Tweet
These things are the tiny essentials of life. We tend to think of the grand things we can’t live without, but these were the simple, tiny things that made his life. He slipped a mint into his mouth before sliding the packet into his pocket.
Istvan looked at me with an expression that was part disgust and part admiration. “I cannot believe that you have done that,” he said. “” I am astounded.” I couldn’t speak for obvious reasons, but I attempted to mould my face into the shape of
It’s winter now, when I think of them. Their faded and tattered tents strung across woodworm-riddled poles. Red and white canvas stripes of reminiscent joy now merged and faded to amorphous pink, like a thrice-washed bloodied shroud. And the wonderful wooden keys and brass pipes
My eyes are fixed on the strobing lines that split the lanes. When there aren’t any, I wait until there are. “…When I say ‘sweets’, I’m talking about drugs, you understand.” I respond with a nod. I haven’t been listening and hope I haven’t agreed
He positioned himself in front of his fifth-floor window, watching the clean, silver glow of dawn materialize over the buildings of southwest Portland, Oregon. He began his warm-up exercises; pressing his lips tightly together and vibrating them, making a buzzing sound. He lifted his gleaming