Showing Results 1 - 2 of 2
My mother and I are out walking. I ask if she remembers the women in that building in the Bronx. “Of course,” she replies. I tell her I’ve always thought sexual rage was what made them so crazy.…
Along the nocturnal road were trees, nodding heads like people. The light of the speeding bus falls on them, withdraws from them. And the vapour-veiled moon crescent is getting blurred. But why is her…