by Don Schofield

(December 11)

This morning, a Sunday, I was at the Athens airport, flying to California, to you, dear Brother, stopping and starting in a roped-off, zigzag line, waiting to check in. I was sure I’d slump to the floor weeping before I could get to the counter. You were dying, Larry. But I had to focus on the immediate—lift my suitcase, let them weigh it, tag it, toss it to the long, black conveyer belt behind them. Watch it disappear.

At Security I followed blunt orders. Took shoes and belt off.

art by Alessandro Avondo

by Gabriela Halas

*Content warning: mentions of unwanted sexual attention and aggression

Dear perfect stranger,

It’s you again! We’ve met before. Though, your face, admittedly, has blurred with the rest. But I know it’s you. You’re the captain on that ship you keep sailing around my breasts, my face, my car, the bar, the beach, the street. You’re posh and shiny, or middle-class, someone’s dad, and once, no— a few times, you were just some young dude leering too close.

art by Thomas Vogt

by Laurie Blauner

I wanted instruction in something different. So I took a course called “The Photography of Confession” along with Tai Chi and clogging classes. The teacher, Bill, showed us Diane Arbus, Irving Penn, Yousuf Karsh, and Cindy Sherman photographs. He told us why they were good. Which made me think about how we were all pinioned in our own times, with their particular concerns such as identity, perception, and human or animal nature. Everyone knew how to click a photograph. It was always an individual’s point of view,

art by loulia Lymperopoulou.

by Lorena Sellin 

As I was walking back to my overpriced but charming hotel– how Parisian, right?- the air was thick with a subtle undertone of late summer blossoming’s, mingling with muffled sounds of gastronomes closing for the night; bins rattling, and stray cats prowling. The polluted city air had given way to the softness of this summer night, and amidst it all, there was a hint of something I immediately recognized- “Thousand Kisses from Paris “, the latest perfume everyone was talking about. What a stupid name for a perfume.

art by Jacelyn Yap

by Kim Chinquee

You’ve Reached Your Destination

We’re on trains and buses, testifying against criminals, then on a late-night plane to somewhere else. Something in my gut doesn’t sit right, and I have a pain beneath my kneecap. I realize, as I write, this is no help to my reader. How can one escape a world that exists beyond the limits of one’s body? What happens after you must sleep and fall into another land? It’s not all dandelions and sunshine,