@marlon.etienne

The apartment is quiet in the particular way apartments get at the end of a week nobody enjoyed. Screen light. The blinds down. You have read about this site the way you read about most things you don't believe — three… read on →

Reynaldo's hands are asleep at his sides, this early, and they are your hands for a few more seconds. You are standing in his kitchen in the dark, not turning on the light, because you already know where everything is —… read on →

You are four minutes into being Marcos Ibarra when you decide four minutes was enough. You're standing in his booth at the Alhambra, the projector ticking warm behind you, the reel light throwing that dusty cone through… read on →

The felt under Wendell Ratliff's forearms is worn smooth in two ovals where a thousand mornings of somebody else's elbows rested before yours ever did. You are behind the table at ten minutes to shift, the pit lights… read on →

You're crouched on a Seattle roof at eleven in the morning that isn't yours, soot in a throat that isn't yours either, and the wanting hits before the job even finishes. Colin Presnell's arms are wiry and quick and they… read on →