In the garage of my apartment building there’s a green tag hanging from the phone wiring box. It’s one of those things that I see every day while driving in and out of my parking space, part of the myriad stimuli that enters my awareness and immediately exits again. 1,838 more words
Tags » Border Crossings
A musty, dry wind blows hauntingly across the vast and barren wasteland where life and death cohabit.
Los dedos de la muerte – the fingers of death – have followed me for more than three thousand torturous kilometers ceaselessly grasping at my back. 431 more words