Camp City, a basti made of tarpaulin tents, was meant to be a temporary address. The government issued your grandparents refugee cards and they believed better days were about to come. Look how that turned out. Even poles of the boundary fence began to rot. Barbed wires sagged from the weight of drying clothes.
Snow Legs
Every morning, we stood beside the frosty appendages, gripping our mugs of coffee, searching for changes. Even when the temperatures fluctuated, the legs didn’t morph or shrink.
A Gallery of Limbs
These images kept breaking in, things about Aubrey he fought so hard not to remember.
Life on the Water
The morning wind swirled down cool and soft from the mountains, shaking the tops of the short pines on the foothills, stirring the dust at Ignacio’s feet and raising his hopes. He leaned back against the car, black and sleek, borrowed from his brother, and fingered the coins in his pocket.
Homestead
Harvest day is the most important day of the week.
Coral Street
"Something moved across the street. Between the rows of the first and second floor windows something dark and sinewy slipped from one hidden place to another."
BERKELEY FICTION REVIEW 