I wonder how I will die. I pray I don’t have a drawn-out death. A disease that hacks away at my bones or heart. Something relentless and brutalising and demeaning to my quality of life. I don’t want people …
A bunch of you want to know what happened to the cake from last week’s story. The damn cake. A woman suffers a serious medical condition, a man loses his arm, his freaking arm, and all you want to …
Here is how this works. I meet the subject at a cafe and they start telling their story, right? I interject to ask questions, to get more details. Minute, seemingly useless details. If the story is wild or unbelievable …
I’ve been listening to a lot of Michael Buble lately. We all know that anybody who listens to Buble is either heartbroken or planning to commit themselves in an institution. I’m neither. I’m in the blues, a writer’s blues. …
He was never the guy to cause a ruckus. Never the guy who was suspended from school. Always knowing when to walk away from trouble, like that country guy Kenny Rogers crooned about. Never the guy who drove around …
