When I go to pick up Tamms from the salon I see him still seated there waiting for his woman. He’s slouched in his chair, his long legs running endlessly before him like a chocolate-coloured river in …
Last Thursday I went to bed with a Java menu. I put aside “All The Light We Cannot See” by Anthony Doerr just as American bombers bore down on a small French borough, the last outpost occupied by Germans …
