@colby.draper

It is the middle of the day where you are, a Thursday with nothing in it worth naming. You have been at this screen for an hour, maybe longer, in the loose unaccountable way that afternoons go when nobody is checking.… read on →

You wake up bald. That's the first thing, before anything else registers — the pillow's cool where hair should be dragging against it, and instead there's just scalp, smooth, someone else's. Six hours ago that stopped… read on →

You are leaving Marcos Guerrero on a Monday before the light, and the leaving has a reason you will not say aloud. Twenty-five days in him, and last night his sister called from Bogotá in a language that sat in his… read on →

Faisal Haddad's knees are the reason, though I would never say so to anyone. Fifty-eight years of them. For three minutes I stand in his kitchen in the dark, the refrigerator humming, his wife's reading glasses folded… read on →

You are standing in a kitchen in Ohio with a mug going cold, and Neil Whitcomb's unibrow is a small weight you can feel when you frown. Five minutes in him. The coffee tastes of nothing. Down the hall the alarm for a… read on →