We spend a good deal of our lives knocking on doors. As a teenager, you keep knocking on the door clearly labelled “adulthood,” because you want to do adult things like come home in the morning, have a beer, …
Memory is a f*rkd up thing. Intrusive, relentless. A river that brings down all manner of debris at the most unlikely time; all these things just floating by, some truly ugly, others eager to be clutched at and kept …
Sometimes Joyce would dress up in a nice dress and go meet a man who would turn out to be a wet blanket and then she would have to go back home and sit on the bed with her …
It was a June lunch hour; bright and hot. The office of Rachuonyo and Rachuonyo Advocates was out to lunch, the laptops left abandoned on desks in an apocalyptic fashion, the fifth floor of Capitol Hill Towers finally still. …
When you have a new book out, it comes with the great virtue of shamelessness. The ability to sell it anywhere and to anyone who can read their name. So there we were, with the Duke Of Gatanga at …
