Rain, and a fight with an old friend. Sober, which makes it worse. Nothing taken back. You keep drilling, can’t stop. Into the molten core. Rain sizzling in the hot spittle. Rain on your bald head. You’d look ridiculous duking it out in the street, laughing police grabbing you both by the ears like schoolboys. … Continue reading →

We sit outside at the splintery picnic table where Uncle Stefan gets hammered daily since he lost his teaching job, his students carrying him home drunk one last time. Aunt Nada pours commie coke from a dusty bottle they’ve been saving. I don’t know what nada means in Croatian. Nothing in Spanish. She pockets our … Continue reading →